


Burning Doves

by TowardTheStars



Series: Midnight Sun [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Angst, Bullying, Class Issues, Depression, Eventual Romance, F/M, First War with Voldemort, Friendship, Good Regulus Black, Hogwarts, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Protective Severus Snape, Regulus needs to pass potions, Severus Snape Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:35:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24398845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TowardTheStars/pseuds/TowardTheStars
Summary: Regulus was failing potions.He was failing, and if he failed, he wouldn’t get his OWLS and he couldn't apply to St. Mungo’s, and his dream of becoming a Healer would crumble to dust.Which is why he found himself sitting across from Severus Snape - outcast, loner, and supposed Potions genius.
Relationships: James Potter & Severus Snape, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Lily Evans Potter & Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy & Severus Snape, Regulus Black & Black Family, Regulus Black & Narcissa Black Malfoy, Regulus Black & Sirius Black, Regulus Black & Voldemort, Regulus Black/Severus Snape, Severus Snape & Voldemort, Sirius Black & James Potter
Series: Midnight Sun [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1761829
Comments: 107
Kudos: 318





	1. Behind a Velvet Rope

**Author's Note:**

> This story will follow Regulus Black and Severus Snape over the course of their last two years at Hogwarts and into their Death Eater years. As in - Regulus Black just wants to help others, and Severus Snape just badly needs a friend (and a hug). 
> 
> I stole the title from a Mikky Ekko song called, as I'm sure you can guess, Burning Doves. 
> 
> I've also listed it as part of the Used to the Darkness series. There is no need to read the other story, but I like to imagine both stories as existing in a nearly overlapping bubble. While this story won't address any main elements of that story, I do like to think of this as the context for Regulus's and Severus's relationship in Used to the Darkness. In that way, Used to the Darkness provided a lot of inspiration for this story and some of the main themes do carry across. 
> 
> Another point - I have no interest in bashing characters, but I won't be taking a kind eye to James Potter and Sirius Black. Despite a more negative portrayal, they are both fantastic characters with complex strengths and flaws. Sirius Black, especially, is one of my favorites - but I certainly wouldn't be the first to try to celebrate him as some beloved, perfect, flawless person with only good intentions. I hope to convey some of that in this story along with my eternal love for Regulus Black (who, contrary to any of my waxing over character flaws is unabashedly perfect and should be beloved by everyone).
> 
> With that, please enjoy!

Regulus was failing potions.

He was failing, and if he failed, he wouldn’t get his OWLS and he couldn't apply to St. Mungo’s, and his dream of becoming a Healer would crumble to dust.

In those dusty ashes, his mom would shoehorn him into the Ministry, and he would be forced to endure politics and wear stiff suits and pretend he actually cared about broomstick regulation or underage magic enforcement or anything else he couldn’t summon any interest in.

No, he _had_ to pass potions.

Which is why he found himself sitting across from Severus Snape - outcast, loner, and absolutely brilliant in potions.

Snape had hidden in a corner of the Slytherin Common Room. Soft green light filtered through the window, and a small lamp beside Snape cast a circle of yellow light. A stack of books towered on the table beside them and Snape had clutched parchment in his hand, clearly in the middle of some essay.

Regulus sat across from him and waited nervously for the other boy to acknowledge his presence. He didn’t know how Snape would act; he had never seen Snape talk to – anyone really.

Sure, he had seen Snape with the other boys from his year, but he hung at the edges of their group, face muted and sullen. But he knew that Avery and Mucliber and the rest of them didn’t really like Snape. He had realized with a start that he had never seen Snape eating with anyone or walking the hallways with a classmate at his side

The thought made him uncomfortable, and he shifted nervously in his chair as he waited for Snape to speak.

“Yes?” Snape asked, lips barely moving. He didn’t raise his gaze from the parchment, and his hair lay lank against his face.

“Um, Sev-Severus?” Regulus asked hesitantly, and when the boy didn’t respond, he continued. “I was wondering if you could help me with potions?”

Snape took a moment to respond, eyes still set on the paper, and voice low and emotionless. “No.”

Regulus frowned and tried not to let desperation lap at him. Besides Snape, he felt firmly out of options of how to scavenge even a passing grade in Potions. He had tried everything else.

“Please,” he tried and saw Snape work the quill in his fist. “I’m going to fail if you don’t. And I really need to pass because I want to become a Healer, but I need at least at E if Slughorn will take me next year.”

“Is this a trick?” Snape asked dully.

“What? No, I really - you’re supposed to be really good at Potions, and I need a tutor. Badly,” Regulus stressed. He stared at Snape pleadingly and saw the flicker of a frown. “I can pay,” he continued, “An hourly rate or something. I just need to be able to pass my OWLS. Please.”

Snape didn’t move for a moment, and then he slowly lifted his head, eyes finally meeting Regulus. Regulus suddenly felt very cold looking into those eyes – it felt like looking into endless holes that lacked the spark of life that Regulus took for granted. He looked dead, Regulus couldn’t help but think, but instead of revulsion, Regulus felt a deep shock of pity.

“I won’t be able to help,” Snape said slowly, face sullen and lips barely moving. He looked tired; dark smudges underlined his eyes.

“Please, Severus,” Regulus pleaded, staring earnestly at Snape. Nothing flickered in his eyes, and Regulus suddenly felt very frightened over what could have extinguished the life inside of Snape. “How about this?” he levied. “We do one lesson and see if it works or not? If it doesn’t, I won’t bother you again.”

Snape took another long moment to respond. He rolled the quill in his grip and glanced out the window at the passing Giant Squid. Regulus waited tensely. “One lesson,” he said quietly, and Regulus nodded, perhaps too enthusiastically. Snape regarded him for a moment longer, and then he looked back to his essay and began to write in narrow, spidery handwriting.

Regulus took it as the end of the conversation and with a sense of victory and anticipation, rejoined his friends at the other side of the Common Room.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

“I’m not sure I understand,” Regulus said, tucking a strand of hair out of his face as he tried to decipher Snape’s comments. He bit at the end of his quill inquisitively, and when nothing clicked, he looked back over at Snape.

Snape sighed and frowned. “What don’t you understand?”

“So are the poisons stronger? Is that why you can’t just use their antidotes?” Regulus puzzled. He had scrunched over his textbook, hidden in some corner of the library. They sat beside a window where a gentle pattern of rain instilled a soothing ambiance.

"It’s the idea of synergy,” Snape explained to Regulus’s confused silence. “The potions remain the same, but their interactions worsen their symptoms. The sum is greater than its parts.”

"Yeah but-,” Regulus began, but Snape grabbed his textbook and wrote in its margins, explaining as he went.

“Look,” Snape said as he drew two stick figures in the margins. Regulus furrowed his brow in confusion, at a loss about how miniature people factored into Golaplott’s Third Law. “The two individuals could complete some basic tasks. Say they can both build a hut. Alone, they can both produce some outcome – in this case, a hut. Similar to potions producing their direct outcome. The idea of synergy states that interaction creates something greater than the sum of its parts. These two working together,” at this, Snape drew a house next to the shambling hut, “will create more than they did before. In this case, a house as they combine their knowledge and abilities. Yet their individual capacities remain the same. Divided, they would once again only be able to build a hut”

“Okay,” Regulus said, actually following. “So the potions remain the same but they can do more than they can otherwise.”

“Yes,” Snape replied smoothly, “However, a house requires more to destroy than a hut. The antidote for blended potions must match that new synergized product.”

“Okay,” Regulus said as he lost the thread. “But why don’t they just synergize like the poisons? So they work together to create something that can destroy that house.”

Regulus could swear he almost saw a ghost of a smile on Snape’s face. “That’s the issue with the law. It assumes synergy on one side. In that case, it’s not wrong, but it fails to account for the other side. But largely, you will need a few additional ingredients to counteract some negative interactions of ingredients. Peppermint, for example, if you’re combing Ashblower eggs and mandrake.” Noting Regulus’s confusion, he elaborated. “Ashblower eggs and mandrake act corrosively together. Peppermint is more basic so it balances out the corrosiveness. You don’t need to worry about it with poisons, but since antidotes intend for the person to live, you have to be more careful.”

“That's,” Regulus started, blinking at his textbook. It took a minute for his thoughts to coalesce. Snape waited patiently beside him. “Okay, but this is a stupid law,” Regulus argued, and Snape tilted his head. “McCormick used like fifty ingredients and it didn’t even work. It seems like so much work. If you’re actually being poisoned, you wouldn’t have time to calculate out the synergizing effect of anything.”

Regulus huffed in irritation, glaring angrily at the textbook. He glanced back over at Snape, who stared back knowingly and almost amused. “You’re quite right again,” he said. “You only need to use a bezoar stone.”

“Huh?” Regulus frowned at his ignorance in the face of Snape’s obviousness.

“A bezoar stone cures nearly all potions. It’s a stone from a goat stomach. Rare but all you need to do is shove it down someone’s throat.”

Regulus resisted the urge to throw his potions book across the library. “So then why in Merlin’s name am I learning about Golaplott’s Third Law?”

Snape gave a small shrug. “It’s good theoretical work.”

“Yeah, but it’s annoying,” Regulus huffed. Something flickered in the depths of Snape’s eyes, and his lips twitched again.

“Do you understand it?”

“Now I do,” Regulus grumbled, surprised because he actually did. “No help of Slughorn’s.”

“Well, good,” Snape responded quietly. “Anything else?”

Regulus thought for a moment, and he had a brief impulse to ask Snape some arcane question about potions just to listen to his cool voice explaining a field he seemed to understand intimately. It would be strangely soothing, he thought, listening to Snape’s expertise, even if he didn’t understand a word of it. However, he had a nasty Herbology essay due tomorrow and had yet to start.

He sighed, “Yes, but in a few days? Sprout wants us to write about Devil’s snare and how it can kill you or something.”

Snape didn’t respond, and Regulus worried that Snape wouldn’t want to continue. He considered their first tutoring session a roaring success; he finally understood a concept that had been aggravating him for weeks, and he had gained a small glimmer of hope that he wouldn’t actually fail Potions under the tutelage of Severus Snape. He only needed Snape to agree.

“Is that alright?” he asked hesitantly, and Snape gave a jerky nod.

“Yes, that’s fine,” he finally said, and Regulus smothered a sigh of relief.

“Thursday, same place and time?” Regulus asked, a little too hopefully for his liking. Snape nodded again. Regulus thanked him, but Snape’s response was muted, and Regulus had the uneasy feeling that Snape had retreated back into himself. He had been surprisingly open during the lesson, hints of emotion even crossing his face, but now, he seemed like he always did – slightly corpse-like as if something that once lived inside him had died.

It frightened Regulus. Not so much the idea of Snape anymore, for his pee, was really quite brilliant and not a bad teacher, but the idea of what had happened to him to destroy something so vital. It made something in Regulus’s heart ache.

Regulus said his goodbye and Snape gave another jerky nod, almost spider-like in his actions, but he already seemed caught up in another essay. It was amazing, Regulus thought. Snape always seemed to be writing essays, yet he never seemed finished. He shrugged the thought away; he already had enough to dwell on.

He left Snape in the corner of the library, the rain picking up so that it now drummed into the window and blurred the world outside.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"I got an E!” Regulus shoved his essay in front of Snape, who sat crouched over an essay in the back corner of the Common Room.

“Of course you did,” Snape responded smoothly, and Regulus laughed with a mixture of disbelief and pride.

"An E!” he said again, sliding in across from Snape. “That means I might not fail.”

“You won’t fail,” Snape assured. He glanced up at Regulus’s skeptical expression. “You are good at potions, Regulus. It’s just that Slughorn is horrendous.”

“And you’re not,” Regulus responded brightly. “You’re the absolute best Severus,” he gushed, and Snape only blinked at the compliment, eyes muted and face sallow. Regulus suppressed the urge to look away and fought against a sudden iciness. “Can you just replace Slughorn?” He joked light, forcing himself to maintain the levity.

"I believe I have for you,” Snape said, fingers tense around his quill. Regulus smiled at him, and Snape looked away, face passive and eyes blank. “So I suppose you’ll no longer require my service?” he said emotionlessly, and Regulus looked at Snape in horror.

“Oh, no! Just because I understand Golaplott’s Third Whatever, doesn’t mean I know anything else.” Regulus paused, internally shuddering at the idea of losing Snape’s knowledge and failing potions and losing his chance to become a Healer. “If you don’t mind, of course,” he added after a moment.

“I suppose not,” Snape replied indifferently, and Regulus would have frowned at Snape’s muted response but after spending a bit more time with the teenager over the past few lessons, he understood his moods somewhat. Snape’s aloofness didn’t always indicate something negative; sometimes it was simply defensive.

It didn’t make him feel any better that Snape felt the need to defend himself from him. Especially now when he realized he might even like Snape. He was a bit weird, Regulus admitted, but absolutely brilliant.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

“Do you mind if I stay? I kind of like this corner of the library now,” Regulus asked nervously.

Snape gave a tight shrug. “If you wish,” he muttered, already hunched over one of his thousand essays. He leaned slightly away from Regulus, long, lanky hair hiding his face except for the jut of his nose.

Regulus struggled to hide his smile as he pulled out some parchment and settled in beside Snape.

It was strange - almost as if by being nearer to Snape, he thought better. He wrote out his Transfiguration essay in a fit of brilliance and wasn’t surprised when he received an O on it a week later.

He wasn’t sure why it had taken him so long to see, or why no one else had either, that Snape was something else. Something Regulus had never seen before. Something scathingly brilliant and who, at least if Regulus had any sense of it, would make incredible gains in the field of Potions.

It was all too Slytherin of him to want to bond with the teenager before he went off and did something extraordinary. And it didn’t hurt that he liked being around Snape. He could be awfully sarcastic if he wanted, and in that vein, hilarious. Regulus found himself having to smother his laughter as Madam Pince glared at them too many times to count.

He still didn’t understand what had gone so terribly wrong to have smothered the life inside of Snape. But, as their lessons continued, Regulus thought he saw some of that life escape from its grave. It was in the muscles around his eyes, the twitching of his lips, and the smooth inflections of his voice. It was there, just barely, but there all the same.

It made him feel as if he could help drag Snape out of the murky pit. He almost felt obliged to - ever since he saw Sirius crying and trembling in pain after suffering their father’s wrath, he had always felt he had to help others. He despised any measure of pain, and it was largely that reason why he latched onto the idea of becoming a Healer. If only to prevent people he loved from suffering, if nothing else.

For that reason, he wanted to help Snape. Anguish lay thick against his sallow skin, and it made Regulus ache and want to do whatever he could to lessen his pain. It was a longshot, he knew, but he still felt a glimmer of hope at the prospect.

First, though, he had to befriend the friendless teenager. If he could succeed in that one nearly impossible mission, then perhaps the rest of it wouldn’t be so hard.


	2. Close Your Eyes

It was one of the colder days in November, the world barren outside the window Snape and Regulus had pressed themselves against. Regulus groaned in frustration at an essay for Runes, and Snape scribbled over a small notebook. It was one of the very rare times Regulus hadn’t seen Snape working on some essay. Silence rested easily between them.

Tired of trying to decipher gibberish, Regulus stretched out. “What are you working on?” he asked suddenly, and Snape flinched. His hand froze mid-movement, and Regulus frowned because Snape always had the edge of someone ready for an attack. He had hoped that Snape would have started to relax around him by now.

“Spellwork,” Snape muttered, and Regulus waited for him to elaborate, curious over the Charm's work. “I’m trying to devise a counterspell,” he continued, voice tight and wary.

“Oh,” Regulus responded, balking at the idea of sixth-year Charms. “Any luck?”

Snape shook his head, and Regulus let him go back to his frantic scribbles as he tried to puzzle through the Runes.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

“Mr. Black,” Professor McGonagall called at the end of class, voice cutting over the murmur of students packing their belongings. Regulus froze in his movements and felt a nervous thread of anticipation unfurl in his stomach. He tried to think of anything he had done wrong, but nothing came to mind.

He exchanged a look with Burke, who gave a grim shrug and an encouraging smile. Regulus didn’t smile back and approached Professor McGonagall’s desk apprehensively.

“Yes, Professor?” he asked, trying to sound unperturbed by the teacher’s attention. He had never been a student frequently held after class, and he struggled to reason McGonagall’s intent.

“Mr. Black,” Professor McGonagall replied curtly. She reached to a stack of papers from her desk and pulled out his essay. Regulus felt a surge of panic; maybe she thought he had cheated? But he hadn’t. All he had done was ask Snape a few questions about animal transfiguration, and they had started theorizing about animal consciousness. He had tried to incorporate some of their ideas into his main argument. 

Regulus had thought it a good essay; Snape had even read it over and approved. Perhaps McGonagall didn’t feel the same.

“Yes?” Regulus waited nervously until something around her eyes softened and she gave him a small smile. Regulus had never seen her smile before and had no idea what to make of it. 

“This essay is inspired, Mr. Black,” Professor McGonagall said, and Regulus blinked at the compliment, unsure of what to say. “I would consider it your finest work to date. With something like this, I believe you would be well-suited for continuing in my class if you so desire.” 

“Oh,” Regulus startled as Professor McGonagall waited for a response. “Oh, well thank you,” he said, swelling with pride. His work before had always lay squarely at average. It had never been…inspired.

Professor McGonagall nodded, and Regulus felt the conversation end. He almost turned and left, but he felt bad claiming credit for something that hadn’t been solely his. The essay was a team effort, if anything, and while a baser desire urged him to ignore his guilt, a louder voice in his head argued against it.

Mother would be disappointed in him. Bellatrix appalled. He was no longer so sure he considered that a bad thing.

“Professor,” he hesitated, and Professor McGonagall tilted her head as she waited for him to continue. “It wasn’t just me. I also had some help from, um, Severus Snape.” Her eyes widened at his name, but Regulus continued, “He’s been helping me in Potions. And he helped me a bit with this essay too. Not like he wrote it or anything,” he backtracked quickly, “Just that we talked about some of the concepts, and it helped me understand it a bit more.”

He finished and prayed that McGonagall wouldn’t retract his grade. However, he felt lighter now that he no longer had to falsely claim full responsibility. It seemed wrong to discredit Snape, especially since he had been so helpful.

“Severus Snape?” Professor McGonagall replied with a note of surprise. Regulus nodded. “He’s been helping you?” Regulus started to frown at her tone, but he caught himself.

“Is something wrong?” he asked carefully. McGonagall’s reaction felt off-kilter, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“Well, no,” Professor McGonagall answered, still seeming surprised at the idea. “It’s only,” she paused, considering her words. “Mr. Snape has never been one of my strongest students.”

“But he’s brilliant,” Regulus countered, and now it was his turn to sound surprised. He didn’t understand how Snape couldn’t be the strongest student in _every_ class. McGonagall sighed and set his essay aside.

“He may very well be,” she said carefully, “but one must also complete their assignments on time. Mr. Snape has struggled with that, which is why I must admit myself surprised. However,” she sighed again, “if his influence leads you to write essays such as this, then I cannot in good faith discourage it.”

The words stunned Regulus to silence because if one great constant in the universe existed, it was that Snape always worked on essays. He never seemed without parchment, quill always posed delicately in his hand, and Regulus had left him more times than he could count pages deep in one essay or another.

He wanted to ask the Professor if she had perhaps mistaken his Severus Snape for another, but he didn’t think there was another Severus in Hogwarts, let alone the world.

Which meant that Snape wrote essays that he never submitted. He either had to be some masochist or Regulus was clearly missing some greater picture here.

“Mr. Black?” Professor McGonagall asked with a note of concern, and Regulus shook himself from his thoughts. He would dwell on it later, and he would ask Snape about it at his next lesson. Now, he just needed to leave gracefully.

“Thank you, Professor,” Regulus said again, smiling lightly. She nodded at him, and he quickly turned to leave, his head a torrent and mouth bitterly dry.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

“Severus?” Regulus asked carefully. He winced as he disturbed the comfortable silence that lay between them and tightened his grip on his quill.

Snape glanced up, eyes slowly rising from the essay they had locked onto. Dark bags underlined his eyes, marring his pale skin, and Regulus frowned because Snape looked even more tired than usual.

“Yes?” Snape exhaled between his teeth, and Regulus scratched some lines into his parchment, suddenly feeling awkward.

“Um,” he tried to begin, searching desperately for the nerve. Snape watched him, dull black eyes muted with exhaustion. “McGonagall praised me for the animal transfiguration essay,” he said quickly, glancing sideways. “She thought it was inspired.”

"Then you should be proud, Regulus. It was good work,” Snape responded smoothly, offering a small smile that didn’t even try to reach his eyes. Regulus nodded, trying to tamp down at the discomfort.

He had thought much about why Snape didn’t submit his Transfiguration essays, and most of the reasons he reasoned out weren’t great. He felt uncomfortable prying, especially with the unsettling feeling that he was opening a boggart-filled cabinet. He quickly decided that he should just leave it alone, but his mouth received the message too late, and it blindly plunged onwards.

“I told her you helped. That you’re tutoring me,” he modified as Snape furrowed his brow. “She seemed, um, surprised,” Regulus said, realizing how that must have sounded. But the idea that Snape was stupid seemed so laughably untrue that the words felt worthy of mockery.

Snape’s face immediately smoothed out at Regulus’s words, and the spark of consciousness drew inwards so that Regulus felt he looked out a blank mask obscuring nothing. He hated it and had no idea how Snape managed to do it. 

“She said you don’t submit your essays,” Regulus continued, cutting to the heart of the matter. Snape blinked but gave away nothing. “Which is what I don’t understand? Because you’re always doing essays, and I don’t-.”

“They aren’t for me,” Snape interrupted, sounding as if he spoke from a great distance. Regulus only felt confused.

“What-?”

“They aren’t for me,” Snape repeated, voice so eerily empty that Regulus shivered.

“But who-?”

“I write them for some of the boys in my year. It’s no matter, Regulus.”

“Of course, of course it is!” Regulus argued back, aghast at the idea of both such blatant academic dishonesty and the fact that Snape, for whatever reason, did other people’s essays. It felt rotten as if they were taking advantage of him.

At least Regulus had the decency to ask for tutoring lessons. He would never demand Snape to write him an essay.

"It’s not,” Snape said simply, and then he turned back to the essay. Regulus sat in disbelief and building anger. He took a breath to steady himself; he didn’t need to take out his anger over the situation at Snape.

“Okay,” Regulus began slowly, “why do you do it then?” If the boys were at least paying Snape, then he could understand. He didn’t think Snape would oppose writing a few essays for monetary gain, and even if it was dishonest, at least it seemed fair.

Snape gave a tight shrug. “Makes life more bearable,” he muttered. Something flickered through his mask, but it was too brief for Regulus to identify. Snape’s knuckles were white around his quill, but he otherwise betrayed nothing.

“More-?” Regulus started, trying to process Snape’s words. “From-From the other Slytherins?” he tried, reasoning through groups at Hogwarts. The Slytherins appeared the most obvious choice, and he could easily see Mucliber threatening Snape to do his essays.

Snape nodded, mouth temporarily pulling down into a frown.

“But they at least pay you right?” Regulus asked because he no longer wanted to feel so horrified at the idea of others in his House taking advantage of another snake. They had to stick together – everyone else already hated them.

A bitter smile crawled across Snape’s face, and he shook his head. He glanced up at Regulus and noticing his distress, elaborated. “It’s much more preferable. They tolerate me then as opposed to-,” he cut off and gave another awkward shrug. “Really don’t worry about it, Regulus.”

“But-,” Regulus stumbled, the anger making his thoughts splotchy. “You don’t do your own then? I don’t-.”

“It’s not really worth-,” Snape explained, and Regulus felt very cold as he saw pain spasm across Snape’s carefully controlled expression. Snape worked his jaw for a moment and turned aside, hair falling over his face. Regulus could just make out a frown and his prominent Roman nose.

“Severus?” he asked softly because he felt as if he had stumbled into something greater than a few Slytherins taking advantage of his genius. Regulus suddenly felt very lost.

“You know about-,” Snape said, and for the first time, Regulus heard his voice break as pain and rage striated through its deep tones. He felt glad he couldn’t see his face; he wasn’t sure he could handle how that agony would disrupt the elegant lines of Snape’s features. His soul ached, and he felt hyper-aware of his useless hands that rested on the table.

“About what?” Regulus asked as carefully as he could. Snape’s shoulders trembled.

“Potter,” he finally spat. The name didn’t take Regulus by surprise, but the sheer rage in Snape’s voice did. It didn’t seem to make sense; the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry was well-known and publicized. Regulus had hexed a fair number of Gryffindor’s and been hexed in return. It was a bit like a sport, each team tallying their wins and losses.

He knew his brother and his best friend took part in it. They all did really. And now that he thought of it, he had seen Sirius and Potter hex Snape. It had been the two of them and that other friend of theirs against Snape, which was weird, now that Regulus thought about it.

Despite the rancor between the houses, they usually tried to maintain a pretense of dignity in their spats. You didn’t gang up on lone figures. You fought, but you fought fairly.

That was how Regulus had been raised. You did everything in your power to win the fight but always with maintaining dignity. For if the House of Black didn’t have dignity and respect, then it had nothing.

Sirius knew that. And Potter too since he was also a pureblood.

And by that reasoning, no one should ever lay a hand on Snape unless he was hanging around some group of Slytherins or a Gryffindor had decided to fight alone.

But that wasn’t how he remembered it. It was three versus one. Potter, Sirius, and Pettigrew against Snape. Snape had cast some spell on Pettigrew to make his toenails grow, but Potter had got in a hex at that point to make-.

Regulus curdled in shame. He had walked by as Snape had slid on the floor, covered in grease that caused him to slip and crash onto the floor. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t stopped to help; the thought made him feel atrocious and disgusting. He must- must have assumed Snape had help coming. Some boys in his own year. Some friends which Regulus now realized hadn’t existed.

He had met Sirius’s gaze as he walked past and that was perhaps why he hadn’t forgotten completely. The look in Sirius’s eyes had been something ugly and resentful, and when Sirius realized Regulus saw him, the look grew even angrier.

They hadn’t talked – they never did once Sirius made it abundantly clear it was more important for him to be a Gryffindor than for him to be a brother.

The memory made him sick with horror and shame, and he averted his gaze.

“I, um,” Regulus stuttered since Snape seemed to be waiting for a response. “I, he takes your essays?” he asked in a rush of air.

"Yes,” Snape gritted out “All the time. Stopped being worth it. Which is why,” he let out a humorless laugh, and Regulus stared down at his hands because something terrifying hid in the sound. “The professors all think I’m stupid. Unable to even write a simple essay,” he hissed, the hatred making Regulus feel nauseous.

He suddenly felt he preferred the empty coldness to this rage-filled agony. He felt frightened, half-terrified Snape would look at him and half-terrified he wouldn’t. He felt so far out of his depth and couldn’t help but feel as if he would drown in Snape’s pain.

“You’re not,” Regulus muttered, unable to translate the torment in his head into the sentiment he wanted to convey. “You’re not-. You’re the smartest person I know, Severus,” he finally said, his voice surprising him with its sincerity. Snape didn’t respond, but his breathing grew harsher. “I think you’re brilliant,” Regulus said thickly. He wanted to cry; he didn’t understand what could have gone so wrong for Severus Snape.

Snape twitched at his words. He brought a hand to his forehead and leaned into it to shield the rest of his face. He breathed raggedly as Regulus tried to calm the torment in his chest.

"I suppose,” Regulus finally said, trying to force some levity back into his voice. He didn’t think he was successful, nor did he feel particularly funny, but something had to break the crushing silence between them. “I suppose this would be a bad time to ask if you could do my essay for Potions?”

He immediately cringed at himself and half-expected Snape to throw a textbook at him and yell at him to leave. Therefore, he was unprepared when Snape lowered his hand to his mouth and began to emit soft snorts, back shaking in – laughter?

It felt strange to realize, in the midst of everything else, that Severus Snape’s laughter was possibly one of the cutest sounds Regulus had ever heard.

It also made everything feel alright again, and his heart swelled at the sound. Truly, it had to be the cutest thing Regulus had ever heard, and he felt a measure of glumness when Snape finally stopped.

“Here,” Snape said softly, voice dropping back into its smooth tones. “Let me see what you need to write.” Regulus handed him his essay, and they spent the next thirty minutes discussing the properties of moonstones.

The familiar conversation lessened the tension between them and acted as a comfort. When Regulus finally said goodnight, Snape wished him the same with a small smile that made it about halfway to his eyes and made Regulus want to pull him into a hug and never let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm looking for a beta for this story if anyone is interested! I'm anticipating it to be around 15-20 chapters and 50k words or so. If you are, please let me know and I can send you more details. 
> 
> Also, I completely headcanon Regulus Black to look exactly like Timothee Chalamet. And for whatever reason, Blurryface by Twenty One Pilots is an excellent album for him.


	3. Words Do Not Come

Christmas came, and Regulus went home.

It was one of his worst Christmases. Sirius hadn’t come home for one in years, much to the chagrin of Father and bitter resentment of Mother. They now spoke of disowning him, which made Regulus feel as if someone was trying to scoop out a chunk of flesh beside his heart. He understood their anger, often hated Sirius himself, but he was still his brother. Or at least he would be until Mother and Father went through with it.

He spent most of the week before Christmas shopping with Mother for Christmas gifts. He found a particularly beautiful journal that he thought would make a perfect gift for Severus. He had caught glimpses of Snape’s shabby journal a few other times, and it seemed to be something he treasured deeply.

He thought the dark green journal, leather-bound and with creamy, soft pages, would act as a nice substitute.

Christmas, itself, was horrible. Mother threw him into scratchy dress robes, and they went over to his cousins. Even though he did like Narcissa, Bellatrix frightened him. Her eyes always looked a little too wild and the tension around her gaze always a little too cruel. He didn’t like how she looked at him and tried not to show how much her haughty superiority disquieted him. Andromeda, the milder of the sisters, was subdued, eyes distant, but she did smile when he came over to talk to her for a few moments.

After dinner, they spoke in hushed tones about the rising Dark Lord and what he promised. Bellatrix was expectantly enthusiastic, the rest of his family approving, but Regulus couldn’t fight against the feeling of discomfort at their words. He agreed with pureblood superiority, but he didn’t like the idea of hurting Muggle-borns. He didn’t like the idea of hurting anyone.

He returned to Grimmauld subdued and feeling hollow as if the holiday had failed him. He slunk back to his room and stared morosely at the ceiling until an owl knocked on his window. He opened it and let the poor bird in. He fed the owl a treat, stroked its shivering head, and pulled off the note tied around its foot. He noticed the familiar spidery writing with a surge of elation.

The letter itself was curt – a simple thanks and brief talk of Hogwarts. However, Regulus took it as an invitation to send a much more detailed letter back about how he hated the holidays and would much rather be stuck in Potions class as Slughorn tried and failed to explain some indecipherable concept.

Snape owled back the next day, and a correspondence flourished as they sent letters back and forth. Regulus complained about his holidays and detailed what he missed of Hogwarts, and Snape sent back anecdotes of an impromptu snowball fight Dumbledore started and Slughorn ended by falling into a snowdrift and of a mortified first year stepping on McGonagall’s Animagus’s tail.

Regulus realized once again how funny Snape was; the humor biting and sarcastic but surprisingly insightful. The letters quickly became his only spot of happiness in his otherwise dreary house.

The end of holidays couldn’t come fast enough.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Regulus threw himself into the seat across from Snape. He propped his chin in his hands and grinned brightly. Snape immediately flinched, grabbing for his wand, but relinquished his grip when he saw it was only Regulus. His thin, nearly bloodless lips pressed together, and his black eyes stared dully at Regulus.

For a moment, Regulus struggled to correlate the teenager who sat across from him with the one who had written such witty letters. Looking at Snape, one would think there was nothing living in him. His eyes seemed to hold shambles in their dark irises, his voice so tightly controlled and horribly repressed and his face frighteningly gaunt. But Regulus now held proof that something still burned inside him, and that something was something he really quite liked.

“Merlin, break was miserable,” Regulus bemoaned, recognizing that Severus wouldn’t want him to comment on his momentary alarm. “I’m so glad to be back.”

Snape nodded, reaching for his quill so he could roll it between tense fingers. “It was rather quiet without you,” he said slowly, and Regulus grinned. Snape didn’t return the smile. Instead, he frowned and reached into his bag to pull out the journal. He placed it in front of Regulus. “Thank you for your gift, but it’s too much. I can’t accept it.”

Regulus reached out and shoved the journal back across the table. “It’s too late. It’s yours now.” Snape looked about to protest again, but Regulus shook his head to cut him off. “Really, Severus. You’re my friend now, and I want you to have this.”

Snape’s pale lips parted at the word friend, and he suddenly looked stricken. He worked his jaw as if he something uncomfortable pressed against him, and the skin around his eyes grew tense. He hunched over more, lank hair falling from over his ears.

His reaction made the part near Regulus’s heartache, and he knew it was about time that Snape had someone he could call a friend. Even if it came years too late.

Snape didn’t respond for several long moments, and Regulus suddenly felt nervous. Maybe he was the one thinking far too into it? Snape was his tutor, and maybe that’s all Snape wanted to be to him. “Is something wrong?” he asked, tamping down on the uneasiness in his voice.

Snape seemed to speak through his lips, voice soft and distant. “I don’t see why.”

"Why what?”

“Why you would want to be my friend?” Snape finished in an oddly clinical manner that made Regulus uncomfortable.

“Um, let’s see,” Regulus began, trying to keep his tone jovial. “You’re a genius and really funny, and I like you. I think that makes us friends?” he asked with a note of tense hope. Snape rubbed the quill between his thin fingers, face a hollow mask.

“I’m a half-blood,” he stated emotionlessly, sounding as if he read from a textbook. However, his eyes remained shuttered and face pale.

“Oh,” Regulus said guilty, and then gave a tight shrug. “That’s fine.”

“It is?” Snape exhaled, clearly unbelieving. Regulus winced at the expectation that he would now reaffirm his pureblood superiority, mock Snape’s blood status, and then run off to join more worthy company.

“Most of the purebloods in Slytherin are kind of asses anyway,” Regulus said, shrugging again. He didn’t miss the surprise that flickered over Snape’s gaze. “Also, it’s not like you’re muggle-born,” he continued quickly because he felt as if had crossed some line that he shouldn’t have. Snape regarded Regulus for another moment, and Regulus shifted under his piercing gaze.

“I offer you no advancements,” Snape stated, and again, Regulus winced at the expectation associated with it. Part of Slytherin was the idea that they would further each other in order to realize their ambitions. That way, you tried to become friends with people who could further you the most – either through connections or wealth or ancient lineages.

Snape was a half-blood devoid of connections, used only second-hand and poor second-hand at that, and if anything, was some forgotten bastard of an ancient lineage. He was, in short, useless and undesirable given his likely envy over their privileges. Regulus knew that was why most Slytherins ignored him. Well, besides him and Lucius Malfoy.

Regulus tried not to laugh in the face of that reason because he had the sense that Snape was one of those rare wizards born with an uncanny intelligence and the magical ability to back it up. It didn’t matter if everyone else only realized it after Snape invented some groundbreaking potion.

"Doesn’t matter,” Regulus finally said, “I’m a Black. I already have all the connections I need.” He knew he sounded arrogant, but it was the truth. He had no need of fancy friends. Snape eyed him warily, and Regulus sighed. “I think you’re great, I _know_ I’m great. I think that’s acted as the basis of friendship for millennia. Friends?” he asked, sticking out his hand as if to shake Snape’s.

Snape looked at Regulus’s hand as if it was prone to bite, and the moment elongated and grew awkward as Snape didn’t move. Something flickered on Snape’s face – almost like a spasm of pain, but it was gone before Regulus could comment. Another long moment and then Snape reached out his own hand, grabbing at Regulus’s for the briefest of moments before yanking it back and hiding it under the desk. Snape, no _Severus_ , looked sullen over the action, eyes downcast, and Regulus didn’t argue the point.

Instead, he opened his potions textbook and asked Severus to explain the uses of asphodel, and after a few more tense moments, they slipped back into the familiar motions of their conversations, gradually relaxing across from each other.

Regulus left the journal on the table when he retired for the night, and he noted with pleasure that Severus now hunched over that dark green journal, hand skittering over the pages. He was just as fiercely protective over it and seemed to treasure it even more.

Regulus knew Severus needed something like it, and he couldn’t help but feel joy over how much Severus seemed to love it.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

One day, that beautiful dark green journal was gone and replaced once again with the shabby brown one.

Severus clearly hadn’t wanted him to see as he had tried to shove it back into his school bag before Regulus could catch sight of it. However, he was too slow, and Regulus froze when he saw the beaten brown cover. Severus, himself, tensed, eyes darting nervously around their corner of the library.

Regulus forced himself to speak past a lump in his throat, “What happened to the other one?” he asked, surprisingly distraught at the fact that Severus had returned to his old one. He hoped Severus had some benign reason, but the teenager’s secretiveness seemed to suggest otherwise.

Something flickered over Severus’s face, and the lines of his face grew harsh as anger filtered though. He tried to keep his voice steady and unaffected, but it trembled with rage as he spoke. “It’s gone,” he hissed, and Regulus blinked.

“Gone? Where did it go?” Regulus followed, sinking down into the seat across from Severus. Severus remained hunched over, shoulders tense, but his eyes flashed upward for a moment. Regulus nearly felt overwhelmed by the sheer anger in his eyes; he was so used to Severus looking slightly dead that such a strong emotion didn’t fit him.

Severus worked his jaw, hesitated, and then gave a tight shrug. His gripped at the edge of the table, and Regulus fought against the urge to cover one of his hands with his own.

“Severus?” he pressured because he knew Severus suffered no delusions over where that beautiful journal had disappeared to. If Severus told him, then he would get it back. As simple as that.

“Potter,” he gritted through his teeth, “threw it out the window. Landed in the patch of bushes by the greenhouses.” He enunciated each word slowly as if they caused him great pain. His cheeks splotched red, and Regulus now had to fight against the desire to stroke one such spot because Severus rarely depicted such signs of life.

“But-?” Regulus started to ask because that didn’t necessarily mean the journal was gone. He didn’t think Severus would have qualms about scrambling through some bushes.

“The patch with the Cornish Pixies,” Severus ground out, his whole body trembling with not just rage, but also anguish. Anguish because that meant that beautiful green journal Severus had started to treasure so deeply was gone.

Regulus had the painful feeling of something simultaneously squeezing his heart and hollowing out the pit of his stomach. He suddenly felt as if he sat miles away from Severus, the table extending and warping as his own rage kindled in the cavity of his stomach. “Did-did Potter know?” he gritted out. If Potter didn’t, he could possibly excuse his actions. If Potter did – he felt something very dark crawl under his skin.

“Of course,” Severus hissed, eyes fluttering shut as he squeezed his hand into a fist. Agony laced the words, and he inhaled sharply, lips pulling down into a harsh scowl.

Regulus distantly recognized that he was furious. He had never ever been one to anger easily; his brother had inherited their father’s temper while Regulus largely remained meek and pliable, bending easily to their parents will and never sharing in Sirius’s resentment. Now, though, now he felt anger boil in his blood. 

“He can’t,” Regulus managed to say past the roaring in his ears, “He can’t just do that to you. That was _yours._ ” The injustice flayed open his skin, and he shook in rage at the idea of anyone destroying Severus’s journal. That had been his _gift._

Severus snorted bitterly at Regulus’s words. “He can do whatever he wants,” he sneered, something dark and rage-filled cracking through the depths of his voice.

“But,” Regulus stammered through his anger, “But that was, that was _yours._ And you had been-all your notes and no, he can’t just do that, he can’t-”

“Like I said,” Severus repeated coldly, voice softening in a way that sent a shiver of fear down Regulus’s spine, “Potter can do whatever he wants. He and his friends-they can get away with murder if they want.” Severus’s voice warped, grew heated again. “And-and this if they so damn well please.”

“But it’s wrong,” Regulus protested, recognizing how naïve the statement sounded. Severus’s humorless hiss of a laugh confirmed it. “But wouldn’t Dumbledore or Slughorn-,” he tried again, desperately attempting to find some semblance of justice. Severus hissed out that cruel laugh again, and his eyes spoke of something dark and ruined. “You-your-,” Regulus struggled, and then he thought of how Severus seemed to own nothing of value and how much he had _treasured_ Regulus’s gift and how much it must have hurt to see it destroyed at the hands of James Potter. He shook in face of the terrible injustice and the agony Severus carried in his bones.

His rage compelled him to stand, and he took in the teenager who sat across from him through reddened vision and the way that every breath seemed to instill pain, and he stormed off before he could think of what he was doing.

He took off down the corridor, pushing past a group of second-years and skidding around a corner. He couldn’t hear anything past the rushing in his head and a faint redness tinged his vision. The anger tasted pungent, and his heart beat in tune to the pulsing rage. It would have frightened Regulus for he had never experienced such anger before, but it didn’t matter.

The only thing that mattered was confronting Potter for what he had done.

He skidded to a stop in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady who sighed and stared at Regulus as if she had seen it all before.

“There’s no use,” she said, and Regulus ignored her. “If you’re trying to apologize, well, at least for the last one, it didn’t go so well. I would take a few days, let it settle-,”

“Tell Potter I need to talk to him,” Regulus growled at a third-year who approached the door and regarded Regulus with a healthy sense of distrust and distaste. The third-year tried to ignore him, but as the portrait swung open, Regulus shoved past him and stepped into the Common Room.

In hindsight, a single snake in a room of lions was an act of bravery so stupid and idiotic Regulus thought it worthy of a Gryffindor. However, in his enraged single-minded focus, he didn’t give a damn about the gasps and silence that fell across the room. He scanned the room for Potter, but his eyes felt jittery and wouldn’t settle on anything for long enough.

“Potter!” he half-shouted, half-growled. He saw someone move towards him, and he swung towards him, wand raised before him. He faltered when he saw it was Sirius, and then Sirius grabbed hard enough onto his forearm to bruise and he yanked Regulus out of the Common Room. Regulus stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over the ledge. He tried to twist out of Sirius’s grip, but his brother was too strong. His grip didn’t relinquish until Sirius pulled him into an empty classroom.

Sirius pushed Regulus against a desk, and Regulus stumbled against it, gripping at the edges. He had turned away from Sirius and had to suppress his flinch when his brother started shouting.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Sirius yelled, and Regulus slowly shifted to face him. He felt the heat of his rage morph into ice as he realized the extent of Sirius’s fury. “Are you insane?” Sirius barked out a disbelieving laugh. For one moment, he hoped his brother’s temper had been directed at the potential danger Regulus stupidly threw himself in. “You don’t fucking belong in there,” he half-hissed, half-shouted. “You’re a disgusting Slytherin. Don’t you dare ever try step foot in my common room again!”

Regulus felt sick with hatred. Sick with the sense of abandonment and loss and of a brother he no longer knew or trusted.

He wanted to scream and curse and demand that Sirius _look_ at him, but he couldn’t speak. Everything felt strangely distant as if Regulus watched the scene unfold through refracting mirrors. He had never felt farther from his brother then at that moment.

“Do you understand?” Sirius raged, face contorted. “You. Don’t. Belong. With. Me.”

“I’m your brother,” Regulus muttered, and Sirius gave a vicious, dismissive snort. Regulus forgot his hatred in the wave of pain that lashed against him. He missed that ten-year-old boy who had taken him on adventures and promised they would always stick together. That ten-year-old boy with the brightest smile and greatest imagination and who Regulus had loved something fierce.

He now recognized that boy had vanished in the jaws of a lion. If his brother was gone, so be it; he had the cunning of the snake to guide him forward.

“I was there for Potter,” Regulus stated, sinking into a façade of casual apathy. His brother heaved, fists clenched, but Regulus simply arched an eyebrow as if to mock Sirius’s loss of control. Something fluttered weakly underneath his heart, and he distantly registered that something had snapped there.

“What the hell do you want with James?” Sirius growled, eyes narrowing in distrust, and Regulus could have sworn dislike. He tried not to think of it. It was bad enough without knowing that Sirius didn’t even like him.

“He destroyed Snape’s journal,” Regulus stated clearly, taking a step forward in an attempt to establish dominance. Sirius leaned over him – Regulus had yet to hit his growth spurt – but his brother still looked consumed by his temper. He breathed heavily, lips pulled back in a sneer. Regulus kept his face passive.

“What?” Sirius jolted, and he blinked a few times as if trying to understand.

“He destroyed Snape’s journal,” Regulus repeated. “I got that for him for Christmas, and Potter threw it into a bush of Cornish Pixies. So Potter needs to repay him.”

Sirius’s sneer intensified, “Oh, don’t tell me you care for Snivellius,” he mocked, and Regulus blinked at the nickname and the cruelty and hatred marring Sirius’s tone. That was his _friend_ Sirius was talking about.

“Potter needs to repay him,” he reaffirmed because he knew the conversation would derail if they started to delve into his relationship with Severus. He expected Sirius would respond with an even greater hatred, and Regulus didn’t think he could stand another moment in this barren classroom.

Sirius snorted, “No, he doesn’t.”

“That was Snape’s property,” Regulus argued because regardless of how much one hated someone, they should be able to at least concede that fact. He worried his brother no longer could, and if could, he no longer cared.

“Actually, it wasn’t,” Sirius responded with a note of arrogance. “Didn’t _you_ buy it for him? What is he? Some charity-case to you? Is that what it’s about? Taking pity on the weird boy?”

Regulus gritted his teeth and pushed against his anger. Sirius’s words were biting and mocking, but there would no sense in their fight. Just another way to scream and lash out and leave hating each other more than they already did.

“Then, Potter owes me,” Regulus said tightly. “It cost ten galleons. Tell him to either find an appropriate replacement or pay me the proper amount. Don’t-,” he warned as Sirius looked ready to start yelling again. “I’m not fighting with you over this.”

Sirius scowled, eyes narrow and flashing. “And if he doesn’t?” he hissed, tone daring Regulus to argue back. For some reason, Sirius’s response caused his throat to ache, and he struggled to speak the next words.

“Well, I am an evil Slytherin, aren’t I?” he drawled with as much aloofness as he could manage. He felt dizzy with the contrast between his cool voice and the screaming in his heart.

“Yeah, looks like you are,” Sirius muttered darkly, and the look in his eyes was resenting and disparaging. Regulus thought that image would haunt him for a long time.

Sirius muttered something under his breath and turned and left without another word. Regulus waited several long moments, made sure to lock the door, and then collapsed next to a desk as the apathy gave way to loss, and he rubbed angrily at his face as he started to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Sirius Black an inordinate amount (if you've read my other works, it's pretty apparent), and I found characterizing teenage him as an arrogant asshole with anger issues is the way to go. He's fiercely protective over people he values, but not so much everyone else. And we also saw he was more or less willing to kill someone at fifteen - so regardless of motivations, it's not the greatest picture presented. He's a great character to write, and the relationship between him and Regulus is fascinating to explore.


	4. Take It or Leave It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my wonderful beta - pet_genius

Regulus slunk into his dorm late at night, hoping that no one would disturb him. He passed a few lingering students who studied under the light of dim lamps, but he ignored them. He despised the thought of talking to anyone. 

He was grateful when his dorm mates already looked fast asleep, logs of bodies obscured by blankets. He changed quickly and then slipped into his own bed, pulling the curtains around him so he could feel alone. He lay there and stared up at the dark stone ceiling, mind awash and eyes struggling against the darkness.

Sleep slowly claimed him, and he gave himself over to it, hopeful that the few hours of oblivion would lessen the overwhelming mix of emotions that beat in the depths of his stomach.

He slept fitfully, tormented by a dream he couldn’t remember. Bleary-eyed, he rubbed his face when he woke, shrugged off his friends’ attempts at light talk and ate a breakfast that tasted like ash.

He dragged himself to class and blew up his potion for the hell of it, much to the chagrin of Slughorn. Slughorn’s disappointment only made Regulus angry, and he hexed a pile of dead leaves for good measure on the way to Herbology.

He felt irritatingly twitchy all day. He tensed every time he turned a corner in apprehension that he would run straight into Sirius and his stupid friends. For one horrible moment, he thought he heard Sirius’s laughter bouncing off the walls, but he blamed his imagination. He didn’t want to consider that Sirius had already rebounded from their fight, brushing off Regulus as if he mattered not.

He grew familiar with the swoops of dread every time he thought he caught sight of Sirius. He didn’t want to deal with the betrayal and abandonment that made the air heavy and stale in his lungs and the hollowness in his stomach worsen.

He looked forward to Severus’s lessons; he wanted nothing more to escape into the much kinder world of magical theory. They would string a web around their small corner of the library, and like a spider catching flies, eliminate any unwanted thoughts or emotions. It would just be them – Sirius and Potter and all the others just a meaningless footnote.

His pace quickened in eager anticipation as he headed to the corner of the library after dinner. He halted when he saw the seat Severus usually occupied sat empty. He scanned the space to make sure he hadn’t flubbed the familiar path, but no, there was the window that overlooked the Great Lake and that stack of books on Giant Alliances.

He was right, but Severus wasn’t here. Severus was  _ always  _ here.

Regulus scavenged his memories for any reasons for Severus’s absence. Severus had served detention with Filch last Wednesday, but it had only been one. He hadn’t mentioned anything else. Regulus knew he would have; Severus was punctilious to a fault, especially when it came to their tutoring sessions.

Regulus felt a spike of panic cut through his chest. He hovered over his chair, unsure if he should sit and hope Severus would magically appear or if he should go searching for his friend.

He shifted his weight between feet and knew he had too much nervous energy to try to sit still. Search it would be.

He took off through the halls of Hogwarts, glancing through the windows of random classrooms in the hope that he would see his black-haired teenager curled over an essay. He had no such luck and checked the Great Hall and the dungeons for good measure and with similar success. He finally reached their Common Room, and he scanned over the sea of faces, peering into the far crevices of the room.

Nothing.

Regulus shifted on the balls of his feet, anxiety kicking up a notch as he tried to think of where Severus could have hidden. He couldn’t help but feel as if something terrible had happened; why else would Severus have missed their lessons?

He needed to find him, to talk to him, and to find out what was wrong. His second search through Hogwarts proved equally futile, and he finally yielded.

He slept even worse than the night before, unable to quell his growing sense of dread. 

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Half-way through the night, Regulus finally gave up on his fitful sleep and decided to sit in the Common Room. He curled up in one of the armchairs, gazing vacantly into the fire in the great stone fireplace. His thoughts came in long, disjointed streams as he considered Severus and Sirius and his future and how he was no longer failing Potions but had another whole slew of problems to deal with.

He worried that Severus would no longer want his friendship. He worried he had completely lost his brother. He worried about Voldemort and what he meant, and he worried about becoming a Healer and what Mother would say.

It was enough worry to drive anyone mad, Regulus thought bitterly. He sighed and propped up his head with his hand and tried to think of good things that would balance out his fears.

Lucius and Narcissa were getting married that summer. That was good. Severus Snape was his friend, and he would revolutionize the world of potions. Another good thing. He should be able to pass his OWLS and with that, become a Healer as he had always wanted. He would be able to help Sirius and Severus and Kreacher and anyone else he cared about.

He had good things, yet he still agonized. And the worry chewed him up and spit him out, until his mind finally gave up in exhaustion, and he drifted off to sleep curled up in the comfy armchair.

He woke as the first few students set off for breakfast. He yawned, changed into his robes, and did the same.

He sat sluggishly across from Stephen Rowle and munched on a piece of toast, eating so slowly it had turned to mush by the time he swallowed. He had glanced over the Slytherin table as he walked in, yet Severus had either decided to skip breakfast or Regulus had missed him. He watched the students filtering in through the entrance, heart jumping every time he saw a glimpse of black hair. Yet, still no Severus.

Lunch was the same. At dinner, Regulus could no longer stand it and had to take action. He approached Evan Rosier, who shared a dorm with Severus, and sat down across from him. Rosier glanced up, light blue eyes narrowing on Regulus. Regulus met his gaze evenly and summoned every ounce of Black arrogance he could manage.

Rosier blinked and scowled. “What do you want?”

“I’m looking for Snape,” Regulus stated simply. Rosier shrugged.

“I’m not his bleeding babysitter,” he muttered, taking a bite of his mashed potatoes. Regulus kept his face relaxed and mannerisms easy.

“Was he in his dorm last night?” Regulus asked more directly, and Rosier gave another shrug. Regulus bit down against his irritation. “Was he?” He tried again, making his voice cold and unflinching. Rosier regarded him, gaze distrusting.

“No, but don’t see why it matters to you.”

Regulus plastered an empty smile on his face – one that he had seen Mother wear often when she charmed people she hated. Rosier eyed it and then appeared to relax. He set his fork on the table and sighed.

“I don’t know where he is,” Rosier said dismissively. “I guess he could be in the infirmary or something.” He thought, “But I haven’t heard of Potter or your brother doing anything to him. Sorry, Black. He’s a weird kid.” Rosier shrugged again as if that explained it. Regulus kept the smile on his face, muttered his thanks, and left.

Rosier’s words thrummed through his mind, and he took off immediately for the infirmary. He felt dread build in the back of his throat. The thought of Severus injured felt like a rash against his skin – raw and angry and demanding that Regulus  _ do something _ .

His pace quickened, and he started flicking through the Healing spells he knew, a great rolodex of remedies he had collected, as a way to soothe the anxiety pulsing inside his chest. It felt like a tumor, lodged against his ribs.

He reached the infirmary, breathing heavily as though he had run a great distance. He scanned quickly over the array of beds. He didn’t spot Severus, but there were two beds with closed curtains.

Regulus tamped down on his panic and tried to smile that empty smile at an approaching Madam Pomfrey.

“Mr. Black!” Madam Pomfrey said with a pleasant note of surprise. Regulus had come to her in his third year expressing a desire to become a Healer, and Madam Pomfrey had spoken enthusiastically to him, describing her roles and explaining some spells and potions.

Regulus had no time for pleasantries for today. “Is Severus Snape here?” he asked forcefully, and Madam Pomfrey’s smile faltered.

“Severus Snape?” she asked, sounding confused. Regulus nodded, hoping her confusion rooted in the fact that Severus was, in fact, not here. She glanced towards the farthest bed, blue curtains wrapped tightly around it, and Regulus felt both his hope die and his breath catch at the relief. “He’s over there,” she continued, and Regulus looked back at her. She looked much more serious.

“What’s wrong?” Regulus demanded, and Madam Pomfrey frowned. Regulus knew she had patient confidentiality to deal with, but he also felt that Madam Pomfrey would speak to him Healer to aspiring-Healer. He wondered if he should play that into the conversation and stress his ambitions so that Madam Pomfrey would share more than otherwise permitted.

Madam Pomfrey must have had the same argument raging in her head because her frown didn’t relent for another long moment. Then, she sighed, “Poor boy got hit with several nasty stinging jinxes. And a rather painful engorgement spell on his face.” Regulus grew cold at the words and knew with a certainty that his brother and Potter held responsibility.

Madam Pomfrey shook her head. “I don’t know what he does to provoke,” she muttered before refocusing on Regulus. “Fortunately, the engorgement spell was easy enough to reverse. A shrinking charm,” she elaborated when Regulus stared at her blankly. He wanted to hiss at her that he  _ knew _ , but his mind had temporarily caught on Severus’s injuries.

“The stinging jinxes need a bit more time,” Madam Pomfrey sighed. “Bubotuber pus helps with the pain, so I’ve kept him using that. Hopefully, he’ll be out by tomorrow.”

Regulus registered that he had nodded in time with her words. He looked at the obscured bed and then back to Madam Pomfrey. “Can I see him?” he asked. Madam Pomfrey’s eyebrows arched in surprise, and Regulus fought against a scowl. “Is there something wrong?” he muttered in response to her expression.

Madam Pomfrey shook her head quickly. “No, dear. Just that he hasn’t had a visitor in quite some time. I’m sure he’d love to see you.” 

Regulus tried to smile in thanks, but his face felt waxy and rigid. Madam Pomfrey seemed to understand because she gestured for him to go. He crossed the room quickly, footsteps sounding too loud in his ears.

He stood next to the curtains and tried to cough to indicate his presence. It came out more like a rasp. He tried again to greater success. “Severus?” he called out carefully.

There was no reply for a long, tremulous moment, and Regulus resisted the need to shift on his feet to dispel his nerves. For whatever reason, he had yet to shake the feeling that Severus would stop wanting to see him. That Severus saw him as some stupid rich boy. That he only endured Regulus’s friendship for lack of a better choice. And that Severus would shrug him off one day, just as Sirius had.

The feeling haunted him, even though he knew he was being irrational. Severus, in his way, seemed to enjoy Regulus’s company. Regulus knew he shouldn’t assume everyone would follow in the footsteps of his brother, Severus Snape least of all.

He let out a sigh of relief he didn’t know he had been holding when he heard Severus’s low, smooth voice respond. “Regulus?”

“Can I come in?” Regulus answered. There was another brief pause and then a hand seared red reached through the fold in the curtain to pull it aside.

Regulus first saw Severus’s eyes – black and dull and tired. Then the narrow pinch of his mouth and the familiar hook of his nose and the strands of black hair that fell around his sallow face as if trying to hide himself from the world.

His gaze flickered downwards, and he felt anger sear the back of his throat. Someone, he knew it was Potter and Sirius, had taken great pleasure in casting the Stinging Jinx on Severus. He could see the angry red marks peeking out of Severus’s black T-shirt, could see them spreading up Severus’s pale arms and neck, and he easily imagined his chest and back equally covered in aggravated welts.

A thin layer of lotion coated the irritation, and for a moment, Regulus ached to touch the stings as if to understand through his fingertips what had been done and how to fix it. He ran through his memory of the Stinging Jinx; there had been no counter-curse, time the only healing agent, and bubotuber pus to reduce pain and irritation.

“What-what happened?” Regulus choked out, sitting heavily beside Severus. Severus pulled his knees up to his chest to give him more room. He wrapped his arms around his legs protectively and peered out through his hair and over his knees.

“You’re the Healer, you tell me,” Severus said, lips twitching ever so slightly. Regulus knew he was trying to make light of the situation, but nothing would dispel the horror burning at the back of his throat.

“Stinging jinxes, obviously,” Regulus huffed, annoyed at himself for taking it as an affront. Severus’s pale lips twitched again as a hint of a smile, and Regulus scowled. “Okay, but  _ who _ ?”

Severus blinked, grip tightening on his knees. He moved his shoulders as if to shrug and dismiss the severity of the question, but it came off jerky and betrayed his anguish.

“It was Potter, wasn’t it?” Regulus demanded, and Severus’s muted reaction confirmed his suspicions. The idea of it nearly floored him; the beloved hero of Gryffindor had done  _ this _ . The cruelty of it astounded him, and he wondered how many others knew. How many others saw Potter for what he was – a brutal, vicious bully.

Judging by his sense of it, not many.

Regulus dreaded the next question, but he  _ had  _ to know. “And, and Sirius?” he said the name quietly as if it was some terrible secret. The look in Snape’s dark eyes made Regulus swallow hard and look at his hands with shame. It was amazing, he thought, that after everything, he still felt some responsibility for his brother’s actions. Sirius had hurt Severus, and the thought made him want to carve out his heart. 

“Why?” he demanded.

Severus closed his eyes, and his mouth twisted uncomfortably. A brief flicker of humiliation and then the mask had set firmly back in place, expression blank and meaningless. “Doesn’t think I’m a good influence,” he muttered, speaking partly into his knees. He gripped his forearms tightly, arms bound around himself.

“What?” Regulus asked dumbly, gray eyes widening at Severus’s half-admission.

“On you,” Severus gritted out, and Regulus was suddenly very grateful he sat on the bed because he felt the floor fall out from beneath his feet. He would have been angry if he wasn’t so damn stunned. “Told me I should, um, stay away from you,” Severus breathed out between his teeth. The sentence caused his voice to tremble, and that small waver made Regulus feel hollow with anguish.

“Oh,” Regulus exhaled because he didn’t know what else to say. The idea that Sirius had physically harmed Severus to drive him away from Regulus felt rotten and pungent, like something left to fester for too long in the sun. It curdled in his stomach, betrayal and anger and resentment seeping through the cracks.

He realized he no longer had any sense of who his brother was; he would never have thought him capable of such cruelty. A bitter taste coated his mouth, one he thought distantly tasted like corrupted innocence.

Severus looked resigned, face blank and body rigid. His black eyes settled on a spot of the blanket, and his breaths came out slow and even. Regulus realized Severus was waiting for him to leave.

Regulus knew he wouldn’t. He would not become someone who abandoned others. His brother was one such person, and even though he had once idolized Sirius, he now shuddered at the thought of imitating his brother’s cruel, callous arrogance and his false righteousness and seething resentment.

He would remain firmly seated next to Severus, resolute in their friendship.

He did, though, let out a groan and bury his face in his hands. “This is my fault,” he muttered, guilt heavy in his chest.

“Huh?” Severus asked, his voice a mere exhale of breath than any substantial sound. Regulus turned to look at him, an apology plastered on his face.

“I went running off after Potter. I kind of made a scene, and Sirius and I started fighting because I don’t belong in the Gryffindor Common Room and how dare I blah blah blah,” Regulus mimicked, scowling in irritation. He glanced back over at Severus who stared at him with wide eyes.

“You did what?” he asked in disbelief.

“I ran into the Gryffindor Common Room,” he said simply, but once he spoke it aloud did he realize how absolutely insane that sounded. He imagined the inverse – an enraged Gryffindor storming into the Slytherin Common Room – and he wanted to laugh because the idea was absurd. “I mean,” he modified, a bashful grin stretching across his face, and then because it was probably the stupidest thing he had ever done, he broke into a detailed rendition. He described the beguiled Fat Lady, the irritated Third Year, the sheer silence and shock on people’s faces, and throughout it, Severus started laughing, hand held up to his mouth, eyes shut, and emitting those soft, mirth-filled snorts.

Regulus grinned, relishing at Severus’s reaction and the easy friendship it cast between them. He felt himself relax even though his chest tightened and shoulders shook as he tried to suppress his own laughter.

When the story ended, Regulus felt a flash of fear in the moment of silence. Would Severus tell him to leave? That his friendship was not worth the cost? Regulus would try to argue, but he didn’t know how persuasive he would be. The moment grew awkward and then tense.

Snape frowned, gaze shifting sideways, and then he spoke, tight and unsure. “When’s your next Quidditch match?”

Regulus saw the attempt at conversation and friendship for what it was, and he responded in-depth about the upcoming Hufflepuff match and their last one with Ravenclaw, and how he thought they needed to approach the game with more tact and not just Mucliber and Avery trying to knock people off their brooms.

Severus watched him closely, seeming to lap up Regulus’s drivel. He commented when appropriate and asked questions that Regulus responded to easily. He also commented about Mucliber’s likeliness to a gorilla, asking if Regulus had checked his bloodline any time soon, and Regulus laughed hard at that until his chest hurt.

Then, to prove Severus’s point, Regulus did his best to imitate Mucliber’s apishness, causing Severus to laugh again, the tension easing from his shoulders as he relaxed and smiled.

The conversation drifted on as Regulus sprawled himself across Severus’s bed and Severus stretched out, hands no longer clenching at his sides and hair pushed out of his face. Regulus would have stayed longer, but Madam Pomfrey finally came over and explained that curfew was soon and Regulus really ought to get back to the Common Room.

Regulus thanked her and as he turned to say goodbye to Severus, his body moved on its own accord and reached out to pull Severus into a light hug. Regulus’s mind caught up a second later, and he felt embarrassed over his impulsive decision. Severus froze at the contact, body rigid and awkward against Regulus.

Regulus held on for a second longer, wondering if he had overstepped bounds. Severus looked stricken, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. He glanced sideways, and after a moment, his expression smoothed out and he looked back with a small smile gracing his face.

Regulus smiled at it and then stood up and left. He wandered through the hallways for a while, unconcerned with Filch or the possibility of detention. He needed to move, each step offering a possibility of clarity.

Unfortunately, clarity eluded him, and he eventually retired to the Common Room. As he did, he thought about how his refusal to abandon Severus had strengthened a shaky trust they had started to form. How doing so had opened up Severus, resurfacing parts of him that had lived in the dark for too long and like a skittish animal, threatened to vanish at any wrong move.

He thought about how Severus had looked at him, dark eyes weary and resigned. He must have expected Regulus would have wanted to leave him, turning away in disgust or pity. He wondered if someone had once and that was why Severus treated Regulus’s offer of friendship as something likely to bite.

He wished he could assure him otherwise, but he wasn’t sure how to do that convincingly. No, for now, he would continue to be Severus’s friend.

He would be Severus’s friend and he wouldn’t be Sirius’s brother, and maybe that would be okay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor, loyal Regulus. I think after feeling abandoned by Sirius, he would have both abandonment issues and a fierce loyalty to those he deemed important. Almost a Hufflepuff in nature - a bit like Severus really, both loyal to a fault. 
> 
> Thank you for all the comments/kudos/silent readers - I love hearing your feedback :)


	5. Flew To High

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again to pet_genius!

Regulus had never felt more abject horror than when Severus admitted he hadn’t been to a Quidditch match since his first year.

He spluttered with shock and stared at Severus with an expression of pure dismay. Severus, noting his reaction, explained he didn’t like crowds, but that he thought he might come to the one this weekend, if that's alright with Regulus, of course.

“Of course it’s alright!” Regulus answered incredulously, “Of course, bloody hell, since your first year? But-but Quidditch!”

Severus gave another one of his tight shrugs, a guilty half-smile dancing across his face. “Never really saw the appeal,” he explained, and Regulus' mouth dropped open at the sheer offensiveness of it. Severus seemed amused, eyes glinting, but to Regulus, this was the least humorous situation he had ever found himself in.

“But,” Regulus continued aghast, “It’s Quidditch! The best thing ever. Severus, how can you do this to me?” He mimicked heartbreak, the back of his hand dramatically pressed against his forehead, and Severus shook his head as he smiled.

“It’s just throwing balls into hoops,” Severus replied blandly, and Regulus mimed getting stabbed in the chest.

“How dare you refer to the greatest game man ever created as just throwing balls into hoops?” he accused, deeply offended at the idea. Severus rolled his eyes, but he remained relaxed, a small smile set on his face. Regulus buried his head in his hands. “Slytherin’s stones,” he mumbled, but loud enough for Severus to hear, “How can you go through life hating Quidditch?”

“I don’t  _ hate  _ Quidditch,” Severus corrected, but the fine distinction didn’t matter to Regulus. If you weren’t completely obsessed with the sport, you had committed a sin. “It’s simply not something I’m interested in.”

Regulus shuddered. “Don’t worry,” he comforted, “I’ll save you. To hate Quidditch,” he muttered quietly, utterly distraught at the idea. “Alright, you’re definitely coming. The match is at 1. You know, like, know what I do right?” he asked, now frightened at Severus’s ignorance.

“Of course,” Severus stated confidently. “You seek.”

“Seek what?” Regulus pressed, peering through his fingers.

“The, ah, ball,” Severus replied curtly, and at the look on Regulus’s face, he broke into laughter. Regulus didn’t feel nearly as amused.

“You know right?” he asked, now panicked. Severus rolled his eyes.

“Of course. The Snitch. Small golden ball? With little wings?”

“ _ I _ know what a snitch is,” Regulus said in exasperation. He leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling, praying that some benevolent god would grant him strength.

“Well, then, I don’t see why you would have any problem catching it on Saturday.”

“You’re the worst,” Regulus stated flatly, but without malice. Severus gave a small shrug in acknowledgment, but the twitch of his lips indicated his amusement at Regulus’s exasperation.

“I’m looking forward to the match,” Severus said, shaking his head at Regulus’s fierce dedication to the sport. Regulus threw up his hands in defeat but couldn’t help but smile. Of course, Severus would have no interest in Quidditch. Of course, he wouldn’t care about Regulus’s greatest passion. 

He would have to change Severus’s mind, he thought. There was no excuse to go through life hating Quidditch. He shuddered at the idea; he wouldn’t even wish that on his worst enemy, let alone his best friend.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Saturday felt overly bright and clean; the saturated blue sky blared and the air hung cold and crisp. Cullen, the captain, bemoaned the conditions – bright meant hard to see and hard to see meant Regulus would struggle to find the Snitch.

Ravenclaw was a well-matched team, and ideally, Regulus would catch the snitch before the Ravenclaw Chasers could score too many points. Cullen went over the game plan, smacked a hand on Regulus’s back in encouragement, and they prepared to play.

As Regulus stepped onto the field, broomstick firmly in hand, he glanced up at the row of green in the stands. The sun hurt his eyes, and he squinted against it as he tried to find Severus in the crowd. He couldn’t manage to find him, and as Smith blew the whistle to begin the game, he took off.

He did a preliminary scan of the space, hoping to catch a glimpse of gold. He only saw the whiz of the other players and the blur of balls as they crisscrossed the space. Regulus turned his attention back to the Slytherin stands, eyes flickering from face to face.

No, no, no – and there he was. He sat alone, a little distant from everyone else as the seats around him stood empty. He had wrapped a thin green scarf around his neck, black eyes peering over the fabric. When he noticed that Regulus had seen him, he gave a small wave, and Regulus smiled back, feeling impossibly giddy. 

A curt word from a passing Cullen pulled him back into the game, and he began to fly back and forth across the field in search of the snitch. Slytherin scored, and then Ravenclaw, and then Slytherin fouled because Avery had knocked Andon off her broom. Ravenclaw scored on the penalty, and then again, and again, and Regulus redoubled his search efforts.

He felt a steely grit of determination to win, not only for Slytherin but also for Severus. He didn’t want to feel that he had made Severus come out for nothing. He  _ needed  _ to win. 

And there it was, hovering next to Blair’s, the Ravenclaw Keeper, ear. Regulus immediately took off, heading straight for Blair and the fluttering golden ball. Fay, the Ravenclaw Seeker, had flown to the Slytherin end, so Regulus had the advantage.

The cold wind streamed through Regulus’s hair, a freezing caress that caused the breath to catch in his lungs. He heard only the dull thrum of the crowd and his own heartbeat as he reached out, hand searching through the air, and –.

He held up the snitch in victory, and the Slytherin section burst out in cheers. Regulus shot an apologetic look at Blair, who he nearly barrelled into. Blair ignored him, clearly irritated by the loss.

Regulus took a victory lap with the Slytherin team, throwing his fist in the air as the snitch struggled in grasp. He laughed at the swelling sense of joy and accomplishment, and the team’s congratulations certainly helped.

Regulus landed and placed his feet back on the ground. Cullen slapped him on his back, and Regulus grinned. He ignored the Ravenclaws who shot him dirty looks and scanned the celebrating mass of Slytherins. He couldn’t pick out Severus from the hullabaloo, but he hoped Severus had seen his victory and felt a sense of thrill over the game.

Regulus led a rowdy group of Slytherins back to their Common Room. Cullen had enlisted some of the older students to sneak in butterbeer and some Firewhiskey for the team. Regulus took a shot, wincing at the taste but relishing in the burn and the sudden feeling of airiness that filled his head. 

The party was a raucous affair; everyone started chanting Regulus’s name at one point which made him swell with pride. Everyone looked drunk on the win; their victory against Ravenclaw put them in the standing for the House Cup. All they had left to do was beat Gryffindor. At this moment, Regulus felt almost certain of the team’s ability to do so. He would pluck the Snitch right out from under Potter’s nose if he had to.

At the thought of Potter, he remembered Severus. He had yet to see him in the crowd and felt a measure of hurt that his friend hadn’t battled through the swarming mass to congratulate him. He frowned, wondering where he could be.

He stumbled out of the Common Room and into the hallway with the doors for their dormitories. He paused at the sixth-year one, leaning heavily against the door as he tried to listen through it. The sound from the Common Room obscured anything Regulus could pick up, and he stumbled forward, fingers grasping at the handle.

He leaned back a bit as he tried to open the door, feeling far too heavy and slow. His vision started to shake, and he blinked to try to dispel the sudden dizziness. His mouth tasted foul and he frowned, suddenly very thirsty and desperate for water.

He managed to open the door and stumbled inside. He looked over the room: the five beds lining the walls, the desks, the trunks, the magic windows that showed a bewitched sky even though they lay deep underground.

And there he was, sitting in the farthest bed with a textbook nestled in his lap. He had turned his head to stare at Regulus, black eyes widening a margin. He seemed to relax at the sight of him as his shoulders dropped and he set the textbook aside.

Regulus stumbled forward, cursing at his clumsy feet. The force carried him a bit too far, and he staggered into Severus’s bed before managing to pull himself into the desk chair. Severus watched him, eyebrows knitting together in a look of concern.

“So,” Regulus said, digging his elbows into his thighs and propping up his chin in his hands, “did you like it?”

“Are you drunk?” Severus asked bluntly, and Regulus grinned guiltily.

“Maybe,” he said as he tried to keep his voice sounding as sober as possible. He forced himself to keep his head upright even though a leaden weight pulled at his forehead. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Yes, I suppose I did,” Severus responded, voice smooth and cool. “That was quite a good catch at the end.”

The smile on Regulus’s face threatened to split him in two, and Severus gave a huff of laughter at his boyish glee.

"Caught it from right out under Blair,” he boasted, and Severus smirked.

“Didn’t even see you coming,” Severus added, and Regulus chuckled.

“Did you-did you understand it? Do you need me to explain anything?” Regulus asked suddenly, brows furrowing as he worried about Severus’s understanding of the game. He leaned forward and resisted the urge to topple onto Severus’s bed.

Severus thought for a moment and shrugged. “It’s only just throwing a ball into hoops,” he answered, voice light and teasing. Regulus reached out to shove at his shoulder, and Severus smiled, eyes bright. The look made Regulus pause – months ago, he would never have imagined Severus could express anything other than that dull dead look. The fact that Severus could now look at him with life shifted something near his heart. The alcohol intensified the warm glow.

The alcohol also drove him to pull Severus into another hug. Like before, the teenager tensed against him, but Regulus kept at it, the alcohol demanding contact. Finally, finally, Severus relaxed and even hesitantly wrapped his arms around Regulus’s thin frame. Regulus felt surprised at how comfortable it felt, how it stirred something in his stomach, and how it made him never want to let go.

“I’m glad you came,” he murmured, and he heard Severus take a sharp intake of air. His grip tightened on Regulus, fingers curling into the back of his shirt. Regulus would have been content to remain like this for as long as he could, but he accidentally tipped his head forward.

He felt violently dizzy, the world unable to settle before him. He closed his eyes, hoping the darkness would provide relief, but now he only swam through darkness. His head spun like a top, and a sharp wave of nausea hit him. He gagged and pulled back, swallowing desperately as if he could fight against the bile and the signaling rush of saliva.

Severus noticed, and praise Merlin he did because he managed to summon a waste bin and tip Regulus’s head towards it. Regulus heaved, gagging against the heat of the acid and the foul taste. He felt Severus’s hand on his shoulder and then on his forehead as he pulled his hair out of his face. Regulus threw up again, grimacing as he shut his eyes against the feeling. He focused on riding it out and settling the upheaval in his stomach. He threw up a few more times, Severus waiting patiently with him throughout it all.

Finally, Regulus managed to lift his head. The vomiting had cleared his head considerably, and he felt much better, as if he had cleaned out his system. Severus handed him a tissue that Regulus used to wipe his mouth and then a glass of water that Regulus drank eagerly to rid his mouth of the taste of bitter acid and vileness.

“I’m never,  _ ever  _ drinking alcohol again,” Regulus muttered, slowly lifting a hand to his head. Severus let out an amused snort and waved his wand to clear the trash can. “Sev, thank you,” he mumbled, suddenly desperate for a hot shower and his bed.

He didn’t notice it when Severus tensed beside him. “Don’t call me that,” Severus ordered tightly. Regulus wondered why it sounded like his friend was panicking.

“Huh?” Regulus thought blearily over the past few moments. He had called Severus Sev by accident. He liked the nickname, found it endearing, but it seemed Severus wasn’t a fan. He wondered if it was because of that other friend, the one who had reduced Severus to whatever he had been before Regulus unearthed the life buried inside of him. They might have called him Sev. “Oh, sorry,” he mumbled, “Just Severus then.”

Severus didn’t respond, but he did help Regulus stand. He led him silently to the bathroom affixed to Regulus’s dorm room. Regulus mumbled one final thank you, and Severus gave him a tight-lipped smile in return as he shut the door behind him. Regulus sighed, running a hand through his sweaty hair.

His heart had inflamed with an uncomfortable array of emotions: joyous victory for the Quidditch match, celebratory elation, easy happiness with Severus, and then confusion and guilt and alarm. He swallowed hard against it, grimacing at the lingering taste of Firewhiskey. He gratefully stepped into the hot stream of water and let the shower wash away his sweat from the match and the heavy feeling of drunkenness.

He pressed his forehead against the cool tile as he tried to make sense of everything, of Severus especially, but his thoughts felt mired in sludge, and he eventually gave up. He would figure it out later, he thought, when he didn’t feel like he had been a victim of a giant attack.

Sliding into clean sheets after the shower ranked No. 1 in Regulus’s list of best ever sensations. He relaxed against the ache of his muscles as sleep quickly claimed him, dragging him downward, someplace dark and safe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of the total 2.3 canonical things we know about Regulus, one was that he was the Slytherin Seeker at some point (seen in a photo that Harry picks up in Deathly Hallows). Which means he has to be a complete Quidditch phanatic. The fact that Severus most likely isn't is an atrocity Regulus refuses to allow to stand. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! We're still in the early friendship stages but I've got a vision for this story that takes it places a little bit father than this sun-bathed basin and more into the pits of the snakes.


	6. Call My Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to pet_genius!

In the doldrums of March, Regulus received a gilded invitation to the Slug Club. He regarded it with surprised disbelief; Slughorn had invited him once before but then seemed to realize that Regulus offered him nothing more than a good family name. Regulus had done nothing to dissuade him of that notion – Mother would have demanded he take full advantage of Slughorn’s connection and it would have all but ushered into the Ministry.

He also developed a great dislike of Slughorn. The man seemed to only value people whom he believed could offer him something. Regulus hated to think like that; in the eyes of a Healer, every life had equal value. You did your best to save every life – not just the ones you thought could serve you best. 

Yet, Slughorn had once again invited him to one of his dinners. Perhaps Mother had mentioned something as she always seemed to deem it fit to try to meddle in his life. Or perhaps Slughorn had been impressed by his recent advancements in Potions. Regulus had made great strides over the past few months; Severus’s explanations lay the field bare, and Regulus had started to excel in class. 

Regulus rubbed the thick paper of the invitation between his fingers and tried to decide if he wanted to go. Even though he pretended for Mother that he liked the scheming undercurrent of networking, he found no enjoyment in playing the game. It was a shame, he thought, for Mother had dedicated a great deal of time and energy into preparing him for winning that overarching game of life. To her credit, he did exhibit a natural proclivity for those false endearing smiles and the gentle, insidious comments. He had a sense of people, knew how to get what he wanted – but he didn’t want that.

For that reason, he should have immediately thrown out the invitation. Slughorn offered him nothing he could want. However, Mother’s lessons remained entrenched, and he couldn’t shake away the idea that he needed to position himself well. Slughorn and the other carefully selected students could offer him an advantage. A glowing recommendation from Slughorn would all but guarantee acceptance into St. Mungo’s.

He despised the idea of debasing himself for it, but Mother’s lessons whispered in the back of his head. Smile. Charm. Win.

It was only dinner. It couldn’t possibly hurt.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

"So,” Slughorn began, voice light and irritatingly pompous. Regulus gripped at his soup spoon and tried not to let the tone bother him. “Regulus, I must ask – your skill in Potions has improved tremendously. I was wondering if you had perhaps received some help from your uncle. I do remember he invented the pepper-up potion back in the day.”

Regulus put on his practiced smile but internally groaned at Slughorn’s obvious attempts at pandering. Uncle Alphard had excelled as a potioneer in his youth but had given way to silly distractions as he aged. After Mother discovered he maintained a correspondence with the Lovegoods, she had started to distance the family from him. Regulus hadn’t minded; Uncle Alphard always seemed to like Sirius more. 

“Actually, no,” Regulus corrected. Slughorn took a sip of his wine.

“Oh?”

“Severus Snape has been tutoring me,” Regulus said defiantly, and Slughorn’s momentary expression of shock made the previous bore of a dinner worthwhile. He also noticed a girl with pretty red hair startle at the name.

“Oh?” Slughorn said again, sounding a bit more forced.

“Yes,” Regulus continued on, boldness making his smile easier. The esteemed Alphard Black hadn’t taught him anything, but the maligned loner had. Regulus could practically feel Slughorn recoil at the thought. “He’s brilliant,” he said, eager to shatter the strict confines of the dinner in the most polite way possible. That had always been the difference between him and Sirius, he thought. Sirius wanted to blast away the rules; Regulus wanted to bend them to serve his aims.

"Well, he’s,” Slughorn started, then fell off to stroke his mustache. “Severus Snape, you say?”

Regulus nodded. “I’m surprised he’s not here,” he said with a fake note of concern. “He’s really quite brilliant. I believe he’ll be a revolutionary force in Potions one day. Perhaps one that’ll put my Uncle Alphard to shame.” Regulus tried not to sound too snide. The last comment may have pushed it a shade too far, but Regulus greatly enjoyed the look on Slughorn’s face at such a blasphemous claim.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the red-haired girl take a sip of her drink, face pale and drawn. Regulus glanced over discreetly to try to see her better, and their eyes met for a moment. Regulus realized with a start that she was really quite pretty. But, unfortunately, she wore Gryffindor colors.

A few of the other students seemed clued into the awkward tension that now lay between Regulus and Slughorn, but most of them continued to eat as if nothing had happened. Regulus wondered how many came just for a good meal versus how many actually cared for Slughorn and his precious Slug Club.

Slughorn chuckled lightly and rested his hands on his protruding stomach. Regulus waited to see if he would engage; if he did, Regulus could make the dinner very uncomfortable. However, Slughorn seemed to think better of it and turned to his next victim – a Hufflepuff with a mother high in the Ministry.

The rest of the dinner passed uneventfully. Regulus picked at his steak and ignored Slughorn and the other students. As a Black, his family held one of the most prestigious bloodlines. He felt no need to impress anyone.

He did make eye contact with the red-head a few more times. He gathered from her quick conversation with Slughorn that her name was Lily and that Slughorn believed her to be one of his best students. She quipped in return, and Slughorn let out a hearty chuckle, appearing rather fond of her.

Throughout dinner, Regulus filled the time by wondering why Lily had startled at the mention of Severus. It felt a better use of his time than listening to Slughorn's attempt to draw students into conversations, Regulus drew his spoon through his chocolate mousse as he pondered it. 

He finally decided the simplest explanation was that Severus had once tutored this Lily girl. But, at the same time, she was a Gryffindor. He felt skeptical that Severus would have endured any Gryffindor’s presence, especially after the two heroes of the House had so deliberately bullied him.

Maybe she had heard about him for some other reason? He knew about the rumors that Severus studied the Dark Arts and had a thick rolodex of curses at his disposal. Regulus had never seen him curse anyone, but he wouldn’t discredit the claims that Severus had studied Dark magic. Severus was simply too brilliant to ignore an entire field of magic – regardless of how it appeared to others. Yet, he never spoke to Regulus about it or encouraged a matching interest in him.

Even so, why would this Lily girl care? As a Gryffindor, she probably saw every Slytherin as some evil bigot. Severus would be no exception.

Finally, the dinner drew to a close. Regulus did his best to leave as quickly as he could, but Slughorn called out his name. He stood too close to the man to pretend he hadn’t heard, so he grudgingly turned around and walked up to him.

Slughorn’s cheeks had tinged red from the wine. He waved away another student who had paused to talk to him and focused on Regulus. Regulus internally grimaced as he prepared himself for whatever Slughorn was about to spew.

“Regulus,” he began, tone aiming for friendly and amicable. He smiled, but Regulus saw through the fake attempt at companionship. He resisted the urge to narrow his eyes in suspicion. “I do hope I’m not overstepping any lines here,” he said, and Regulus knew he would. “I’m concerned, truly. I would hate to see Orion and Walburga’s son fall… astray.” He paused as if contemplating the final word, and Regulus stared expressionlessly back. He didn’t want or need Slughorn’s concern and wanted to argue back that their son already had. Sirius Black had taken their path and properly fucked it up.

Slughorn waited for a response, but when Regulus gave him none, he pressed on. “Now, I’m very pleased about your progress in Potions, but I’m not sure you-,” he paused to stroke his mustache. He looked contemplative for a moment. “Mr. Snape is a very troubled boy,” he stated, and Regulus felt his blood run cold. Slughorn shook his head as if disappointed. “Either a result of bad breeding or a poor upbringing. It’s no matter,” he waved his hand as if to dismiss the issue. Regulus felt his hand curl into a fist, but he managed to keep his face reserved. “Now,” Slughorn continued, reaching out a hand to rest it on Regulus’s shoulder. Regulus yanked away from it, and a frown passed over Slughorn’s face. “Now, if you do need a Potion’s tutor, I can easily find you one. Lily Evans - she sat beside me - had always excelled and would likely be a much better influence. Indeed, I would hate to see you fall into the likes of Mr. Snape. I know your mother would want you to keep better company - and while yes, Lily may be Muggle-born, I’m sure I could convince your mother to see past that fact -,especially given your potential. I’ve heard you’ve expressed an interest in Healing? I’m actually rather close with the Head Healer at St. Mungo’s. I would be delighted to introduce the two of you.”

Regulus forced a smile onto his face and tamped down on the urge to throttle his professor. “Thank you,” he forced, voice sounding clipped. “But I really am alright.” He forced himself to stop there; an argument or tantrum would serve no one.

Slughorn regarded him for a moment and seemed displeased by his laconic response. He looked ready to say something else, but Regulus couldn’t stand the thought of listening to him anymore. Especially since he seemed so keen to disparage Regulus’s best friend. He started to grit his teeth in anger but forced himself to relax. He would present himself improperly if he started cussing out his professor.

“May I go, Professor?” he asked, “I have a Charms essay I need to work on.”

“Yes, alright,” Slughorn agreed as he waved him away. Regulus forced himself to thank Slughorn for the dinner as Mother’s lessons died hard. He slipped away quickly afterward, stepping out of the room. The other students had all walked ahead, so it was just him and the oppressive feel of the dungeons.

Regulus didn’t mind; he wanted to be alone lest he snap at anyone. It angered him to no end that  _ no one _ saw any value in Severus. He guessed he could have expected it from his peers, as Severus did come off a bit weird at first, but the professors should have known better. They should have seen the bullying, they should have stopped it, and they should have supported Severus in his academic pursuits. Not this disparaging wariness or unbothered apathy. And for Slughorn to try to tell him-.

“Regulus!” a voice shouted out from behind him. Regulus stopped suddenly and twisted around to see that pretty red-haired girl hurrying down the hallway to catch up with him. Lily, he thought. Her name was Lily.

“Yes?” he asked smoothly, not entirely sure why her beauty didn’t leave him breathless and stumbling over his words. She did have remarkable eyes, but the thought didn’t cause his heart to beat any faster. He waited for her to reach him.

“Regulus,” she repeated, steadying her voice after rushing down the hallway. “I, um,” she began nervously. She bit her lip as if debating to say something.

“I’m not leaving Severus,” he said bluntly, figuring Slughorn had put it on her to dissuade him from the tutoring. He felt a spark of anger at the girl; who did she think she was?

“Huh?” Lily asked, clearly taken aback. Regulus sighed in irritation.

“Slughorn wants you to replace Severus as my potions tutor. So I can be saved from his bad breeding or whatever,” he said snidely, annoyed at their assumption he would drop Severus from his life. He stared to scowl at Lily, but her mouth opened in an o and she shook her head in surprise.

“No, that’s not-that’s not what I was going to say,” she protested.

“Then what?” Regulus sighed, suddenly tired of the stupid games of the Slug Club. He wanted to slip into bed and then spend tomorrow working with Severus.

“I’m, uh,” Lily tried again as bright red spots appeared on her cheeks. She shut her eyes for a moment. “I wanted to just ask if he was okay.”

Now it was Regulus’s turn to be taken aback. “Huh?” he asked, confused over Lily’s intentions.

Lily flushed redder, and she coughed to clear her throat. “Is he okay? I mean,” she paused, looked about to say something, and then seemed to change her mind. “He used to tutor me in potions,” she explained. “Back before,” she gestured without direction, “so I just want to see if he’s doing okay.”

Regulus stared agape at her for a moment. “Um, yeah. I mean,” he modified, for Severus’s okay ranked far differently than either his or likely Lily’s. It meant, he had gathered, that Severus could manage smiles and find it in him to relax in Regulus’s presence. He debated how much he wanted to tell this girl, how much of their confidentiality he wanted to betray.

“He’s...okay. It’s Severus, you know?” he added because the look in Lily’s eyes seemed to convey understanding. “I don’t, I mean he wasn’t doing well. I don’t think for a while. I don’t know. But I think he’s doing okay now.”

Lily nodded quickly. Regulus struggled to decipher the emotion splayed across her face. “Oh, okay. Good. Um, are you his…?” she trailed off, clearly wanting Regulus to finish.

“His friend?” Regulus answered, staring at Lily as he tried to understand her intent. “Yeah. He’s…yeah, he’s a good friend.”

Lily shut her eyes for a moment. “Yeah,” she mumbled, seeming lost in her thoughts. She opened her eyes suddenly and refocused on Regulus. “Good at potions too,” she added lightly, and Regulus snorted out in amusement.

“Slughorn’s got no idea what he’s talking about,” Regulus said, shaking his head in fake sorrow. To his surprise, Lily laughed.

“Yeah, Sev will run circles around him one day,” Lily added, smiling. Sev, Regulus thought. She had called him Sev.

Sev as in the name Regulus had drunkenly called him one night only for Severus to respond with alarm and fear. Regulus peered closely at Lily and tried to make sense of it. He was about to ask when she startled and glanced down the corridor.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’ve got to go,” Lily said quickly, and Regulus looked over his shoulder to see another girl waiting at the end of the hall and gesturing with an air of annoyance. Regulus looked back at the more reserved Lily. The moment of friendliness had passed.

“Actually,” Regulus started as Lily walked past him. She paused and tilted her head. “Tell Potter he still owes me a new journal. Or ten galleons. His choice.”

“Why...what did he do?” Lily asked hesitantly. Regulus scowled, remembering why he despised the Gryffindor’s and their awful sense of hypocrisy.

"Destroyed the journal I bought Severus for Christmas,” he spat and noted with surprise that Lily looked horrified. “Asshole,” he snarled.

“I’ll-I’ll tell him,” she said quietly, and Regulus met her vibrant gaze once more before coolly pushing past her to walk down the hallway. He didn’t look back, and Lily made no attempt to call out to him.

He didn’t like the idea of using Lily as a relay, but the opportunity had presented itself. Potter still hadn’t repaid Regulus for the destroyed journal, and the fact of it rankled him. Severus still used that beaten brown journal, interchanged with his ancient textbooks, even though that beautiful green one should have rested in his hands. If Potter did take responsibility, then hopefully the injustice wouldn’t corrode into him as badly.

Even better – he would not have to confront Sirius again. His parents were going to disown him this summer, and Regulus as good as considered himself an only child. If Sirius couldn’t care less about brotherhood, then Regulus would too.

It didn’t mean it didn’t hurt though. And nothing hurt more than seeing Sirius laughing and smiling with his friends as if he hadn’t just lost his only brother. Regulus hated it, but there was nothing more to do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always imagine that Lily's friends + classmates were incredibly disparaging of her friendship with Severus - the strange Slytherin boy - and that peer pressure contributed to driving them apart. She would still care for him, but not in a way that could flourish or be maintained in an environment as hostile as 60s Hogwarts. 
> 
> I don't like Slughorn. Never have. Never will. 
> 
> Thank you for everything!


	7. Both Blind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to pet_genius for betaing!

Regulus wanted to throw up every day in the week before his O.W.L.S. His nerves had transfigured into a seething mass of eels that writhed in his stomach. He forced himself to eat, food tasting like ash, and felt jittery and guilty every moment he wasn’t studying.

He spent the week hidden with Severus in their corner of the library. Severus persisted in his irrational belief that Regulus would ace his exams, easily listing the essays on which Regulus had scored Os and shrugging off Regulus’s protests that they were flukes.

Yet, when he studied, he did find that he understood a great deal of it. All of his peers had taken to frantically memorizing potion recipes and wand movements, but Regulus didn’t feel he needed to do the same. No, he had the surprising revelation that he actually understood why you never added flubberworm essence without five counterclockwise strokes (the potion would coagulate otherwise) and why you generally slashed your wand for hexes (spell creation relied on purpose, intent, and resolve – with hexes, you intend harm hence a more aggressive wand movement). It made  _ sense _ .

Regulus knew he would never have stumbled upon this brilliance by himself. He owed a great deal to Severus, to the way he viewed magic as something academic as opposed to something one took for granted and never bothered asking why.

Most of all, he no longer felt he would fail Potions. Severus had quizzed him so extensively on the subject that Regulus started to dream of bubbling cauldrons. He could recite the twelve uses of dragon blood, list every poison and the common antidote (another flash of insight from Severus – potions and antidotes acted as direct inverses rather than a random, lucky pairing), and knew how to avoid every mistake that Severus warned against.

He walked into the Potions exam with a sickening mix of nerves and exhilaration and left feeling… confident. For a subject he once thought impossible and had very nearly given up on, he now found he understood and even enjoyed it. A three-hour test where they had to brew Strengthening Solution and explain the purpose of asphodel no longer felt like something to balk at.

He relayed the test to Severus with uneasy optimism, admitting he may have botched the section on famous potioneers. However, he did feel especially confident about the practical portion of the exam, in which Severus’s tip to use the silver knife to crush the sopophorous beans as opposed to cutting had earned him an approving nod from the examiner.

Severus stared at him for a long moment, and Regulus suddenly felt awkward, feeling as if he had said something wrong. Then, Severus smiled.

Regulus had stared at the smile in awe. He had seen Severus smile before, but they had never completely met his eyes. Something would always cut off the amicable intent of the smile before it could reach his dark irises. Indeed, his smiles were so rare, to begin with, and always self-conscious and unsure.

But not this time. This smile was  _ real. _

It no longer mattered what he scored on his O.W.L.s. This smile and the friendship he had built felt reward enough.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

With his O.W.L.s finished, Regulus spent the last few weeks of the school year lounging around and bothering Severus.

Severus seemed pleasantly exasperated by Regulus, yet he couldn’t keep the relief from his eyes – Regulus knew Severus had expected him to leave when the tutoring ended. He still doubted their friendship, despite Regulus’s numerous reassurances. He had tensed at the end of their last lesson, retreating far deep into himself so only that blank, slightly-dead look remained. 

Regulus didn’t leave.

Regulus wondered if that was what that Lily girl had done. He had never worked up the nerve to ask Severus about her; indeed, he may be wildly off in his idea that Severus used to be her friend. Yet, the idea that Severus expected him to leave lent some support to his theory. It made him angry; if Lily was the cause, then she had deeply wounded Severus.

It had taken months for him to build trust with Severus, and he knew it was about as solidly built as a house of cards. One abrupt move from Regulus and the house would collapse. It made him feel incredibly protective over Severus, and it made him feel special, for it seemed no one else had managed to fight past Severus’s demeanor to reveal the brilliant, insightful person hidden behind his masks. Regulus had no desire to lose him anytime soon.

He still thought about Lily though, every so often. It made no sense, yet Regulus couldn’t shake the feeling that she was the one. It was the way she had called him “Sev”, he thought. That “Sev” spoke of a friendship, one completely unlikely, and one that had left Severus unable to bear the thought of anyone else calling him that.

Of course, he reasoned, if they  _ were _ friends, it would never have worked out. The hostility between the houses had corroded countless relationships, including his own with Sirius. Lily and Severus would have surely met the same fate.

Lily had also gotten Potter to pay him for the journal. It didn’t make him feel any better, and even though he bought Severus a replacement, he regarded it with a weary resignation that bespoke of loss. It hurt Regulus deeply to see it.

He was glad Lily had done it though; he balked at the idea of confronting Sirius or Potter and that easy, entitled arrogance they carried as if they were kings. It wouldn’t have bothered him so much except for the fact that the arrogance came aligned with an assumption of goodness. The two of them acted as the great Gryffindor heroes, Dumbledore’s favorites, yet Regulus could never unsee the red welts on Severus’s pale skin. He could never forget Sirius’s face warped in anger.

The rest of the year, fortunately, passed without incidence. Slytherin, much to Regulus’s chagrin, lost the Quidditch Final because Mucliber and Avery fouled so aggressively and cost Slytherin the chance of victory. The Gryffindors had gloated about it for weeks, their attitude rankling Regulus until he could only find solace in their quiet corner of the library. He was glad then that Severus didn’t care about Quidditch. 

As the year wrapped to a close, Regulus invited Severus to spend a week or two at Grimmauld Place. He reasoned he could sway Mother’s opinions on Severus’s blood status, and Father wouldn’t care past his fury at Sirius. He thought it would be nice to have Severus over; they could even floo to the beach one day or wander through London.

When he mentioned it, Severus had pressed his lips together tightly and gave a small shrug. “Maybe,” he had said, noncommittal and tense, “I’ll have to see what my father says.” Regulus wanted to ask him if his father was the wizard or the Muggle and why he would oppose the idea, but the look in Severus’s eyes told him to leave it alone.

He dropped it, even though he hoped that Severus would come around. Severus, noticing his disappointment, handed him a small pamphlet of papers a few days later. Regulus had stared at it in confusion until Severus explained he had a matching one. Whatever they wrote would appear on the other.

Regulus had never heard of such magic, and Severus had shrugged and confessed that he had thought of it one day. It would be faster than owls, he explained. Regulus had stared at him in awe, and Severus had blushed at the attention.

On the train ride back to London, he shrugged off his other friends and sat with Severus in their own compartment. At first, the conversation progressed normally. However, as they drew closer, Severus started to radiate tension. His responses became clipped and aggressive, and Regulus eventually gave up in his efforts. An awkward silence fell between them as Severus stared pointedly out the window and Regulus tapped his fingers against his thighs.

He didn’t want to end the year like this, but he couldn’t find a way to ease the tense silence. He realized that Severus had slipped on another mask, something harsh and tough. There was nothing in his eyes, no spark of friendship or of his natural brilliance. Just emptiness.

Regulus barely managed to pull him into a quick good-bye hug before they disembarked, but Severus didn’t hug back. He didn’t even look at Regulus, eyes intently focused on some distant spot. They left the train in silence.

There was no one waiting for Severus at the platform, and he muttered another goodbye, eyes narrow and mouth set firmly. Regulus sighed and said the same back. He didn’t take it personally; he now knew some of Severus’s peculiarities had rooted in something beyond Regulus’s influence. A curt goodbye at Platform 9 ¾ was probably the best Severus could manage given whatever else he always carried with him.

Regulus found Mother and Father in the crowd, their faces simultaneously grim and haughty. They left before he could see Sirius, for which he was grateful. He had heard that Sirius planned to spend the summer with Potter, and seeing Sirius with his arm slung over Potter’s shoulder would hurt more than he could bear.

This would be the first summer Regulus would spend alone. He already missed Hogwarts.

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

“What are you doing?” Mother demanded, voice piercing. Before Regulus could stop her, she reached out to grab at the papers he held carefully in his lap. Regulus made a move to stop her, but she had already moved out of range. “What is this?” she muttered, bringing the paper up to her face and scanning over the scrawling, spidery script.

Regulus knew exactly what it was. It was his conversation with Severus. It was his lifeline for the past few weeks. It was the last thing he wanted Mother to see.

Regulus waited in mild dread as Mother figured out exactly what she held. She pressed her lips together in the way that indicated displeasure. He braced himself for her response.

“Is this that Snape boy?” she asked, lips curling downwards in distaste. Regulus startled; he hadn’t yet mentioned Severus to his parents.

“Yes,” he said clearly because he knew she would take his silence as disrespect. Mother frowned.

“Horace mentioned you had started to spend time with an unseemly figure.” She shook her head in disappointment, and Regulus felt his blood run cold. “I thought I had raised you better. I’ll be taking this, and I expect you to end your arrangement with him,” her lips curled over the pronoun in distaste, “when you return to Hogwarts. We stand at the crux of something…great. I would hate to see you sullied. You are so much greater than that, my dear son.”

Regulus wanted to argue, to stand up and boldly disappoint her, yet he couldn’t. Not with that look in her eyes. Not when he knew that as easily as she had made him, she could just as easily unmake him.

He didn’t have Sirius’s courage. He couldn’t stand against her as he could. He desperately wished Sirius was there to protect him, as he used to do when Regulus choked on his words at Mother and Father’s demands. And if not – at least he would know Sirius was there for him.

But he wasn’t. Not anymore. And he couldn’t risk losing the rest of his family.

He muttered out his agreement, and Mother regarded him for another moment.

"You’ll be great one day, Regulus,” she said coolly, tone softening ever so slightly.

“Thank you, Mother,” he responded automatically. He tried not to stare at the paper Mother held in her grasp. Severus had probably written back already. He wouldn’t know why Regulus wouldn’t respond. And knowing Severus, he would assume the worst.

He would have to sneak an owl later, he decided. So that Severus didn’t think Regulus had abandoned him. And he would have to be more careful in the future. He would have to find a way to protect his friendship with Severus. He felt very cold at the thought of losing him as if someone had doused him in ice water.

He desperately wished he could see his friend again. His cool, steady presence would feel like a salve. Those dark, endless eyes, the small smirks and even smaller smiles, his laughter, oh god, his  _ laughter _ – Regulus missed the sound more than he cared to admit.

Around Severus, Regulus could breathe easily. He could be  _ himself. _ Severus never pretended at judgment. Never demanded Regulus be something he wasn’t. All he ever asked was for Regulus to think and question, and on an implicit level, to be a friend.

He could not breathe easily here, not in this nightmare of a home. He pretended at an obedient son. He conformed to their rigid demands, only to know that one day he  _ would _ break free.

All it required for him was to be cunning. And as a Slytherin, cunning was right up his alley.

He waited a few days and then sent his letter to Severus. Mother asked him about it, as he knew she would. He lied, said it was a letter to Rowle, his pureblood friend. Mother narrowed her eyes but didn’t press him on it.

He watched the owl fly away with a measure of hope and relief. Then he turned back into Grimmauld Palace and wondered how to keep the grimness of the house from dragging him someplace dark and deep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you! 
> 
> I've made the mistake of trying to work on about five stories (two sequels, a Hollywood inspired Severus/Sirius feat. Regulus, and a deaging fic) and I think I've bitten off more than I can chew. While my progress has slowed, I will try to maintain a constant update speed of a chapter every Saturday night. I also plan to prioritize this story (once I get to the Death Eater years, I believe it will come easily and as such, should be finished (in time for a possible two sequels? Haven't yet decided, but I've been entertaining two possible directions and might just take both - only to help lessen my work load of course)


	8. From a Burning Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mention of child abuse. 
> 
> Thanks to pet_genius for beta-ing!

Regulus had told Severus not to write back, so he spent the next week lying in the small park outside their house and staring morosely at the ceiling of leaves. He felt lonely for the first time that summer and hated it. He had no interest in doing anything anymore, not when he couldn’t discuss it with Severus.

Kreacher had picked up on his depressed mood and started bringing him sweets as a remedy. Regulus thanked him, but even Kreacher’s sympathetic gestures couldn’t warm that icy hollowness that consumed his chest.

If Mother noticed, she didn’t say anything. Father wouldn’t have noticed anyway. Regulus didn’t let himself think of Sirius anymore.

The hot afternoon slipped into a cool dusk, and Regulus grudgingly stood up to head back home. The hours had passed in a morose daze, and he frowned. He never was one to act depressed, but Merlin, he  _ missed _ Severus. To lose him so suddenly and completely  _ hurt _ .

He had never missed anyone like this before. He tried not to think too much on why. He knew something was there –  _ he knew ­ _ – but he couldn’t. Not yet.

He dragged his feet back to his home and walked dejectedly past the row of decapitated house-elves. He climbed the staircase slowly and slipped into his room. He considered throwing himself onto the bed, but a scratching noise from his window caught his attention.

He approached the window and saw a magnificent great horned owl tapping at the glass. He looked aggrieved as he shook his foot where a small roll of paper had been tied. Regulus opened the window, and the owl hopped in, shooting him a look.

Regulus grabbed some of the owl treats he kept by his window, and after another glare, the owl took it from his hand. He stretched out his foot and Regulus pulled the paper free.

He unrolled it, wondering who could have written to him. Hope flickered in his chest that Severus had disregarded his warning and wrote back; Regulus felt he would face Mother’s wrath if just for a letter from Severus.

However, the creamy parchment felt expensive and the handwriting curled delicately as if a woman had written to him. It looked familiar, but he struggled to place it. He opened the letter quickly and read:

_ Dear cousin, _

_ I hope all is well. Lucius and I both look forward to seeing you at the wedding. The planning has been a nightmare, but hopefully will be worth it. _

_ However, I am writing to you about another matter. A more serious one. It may be upsetting, my dear cousin, so please try to prepare yourself. _

_ I am under the belief that you are good friends with Severus Snape. At least, that is what he has told me. I see no reason to doubt him, but if that’s not the case, then I do apologize for the impromptu letter. _

_ If you are his friend, as he has described, then I must relay to you some recent events. _

_ Severus was badly injured this past week. I am not sure how much he has relayed to you of his home life, but his father is a Muggle and had beaten him quite severely. He managed to send a message to Lucius, who promptly rescued him from his monster of a father. He has spent the past few days recovering as his injuries were quite severe. _

_ Most importantly, Severus is now alright. He is currently staying with us and has plans to for the rest of the summer. You are more than welcome to visit, and we would both be more than delighted to see you again. I’m sure you could convince your mother and if not, I’ll talk to her (I always could use the help for wedding planning!). _

_ Kind Regards, _

_Cissa_

Regulus set the letter down with shaking hands and leaned forward to cradle his head in his palms. Panic made his heart jitter uneasily, and nausea twisted in his stomach. He wanted to scream but couldn’t find the air.

_ Severus _ , he thought. Oh, Severus. The idea of him hurt – Regulus’s mind stuttered over the word, for he never wanted to see Severus hurt, not like this. Not by his – his  _ father _ .

That must have been why he had acted the way he had on the Hogwarts Express. Why he looked cold and lifeless when he had left Regulus without another word on the platform. Why his eyes had –

He was frightened, Regulus realized with a sick twist of his stomach. He must have been frightened and resigned and tired, as he always was. And when he was like that, like when Regulus knew the stupid Marauders had cut a shade too deeply, he shut himself down. His eyes died. His body stilled. He buried himself.

He had done so on the train, and Regulus had been too stupid to realize.

And then his father, a Muggle, had hurt him.

The rage and horror burned behind his eyes, and he distantly wondered where all this anger had come from. He never thought he had anger resting so close to his heart, yet when he thought of what had been done to his  _ friend  _ – he wanted to scream and rage and hurt.

He wanted to blow up his entire house. He wanted to burn everything to the ground. He wanted to have been there for him. He wanted to stop it all.

His feet carried him mindlessly downstairs. He passed Mother, who looked at him concerned and spoke, yet he didn’t hear or care.

He reached the fireplace, grabbed the Floo power, and knowing where exactly he needed to be – who he needed to be with – he stepped in, threw it down, and spoke out “Malfoy Manor”.

The world whirled violently, he spun and shrunk, and then the fire cast him out, throwing him violently out into the brutal world.

He stared at the empty foyer for a moment and heard a pop.

"Master Regulus,” a small voice squeaked. Regulus looked down and saw the Malfoy’s house-elf – a creature named Dobby. He was an ugly thing with great bulging eyes and an old tea cloth he had tied tightly around himself. Regulus only felt pity; something about house-elves always made him sad. “Are you here to see Missus?”

"Yes,” Regulus said automatically, and Dobby nodded and vanished. A moment later he returned.

“Follow me, Master Regulus. Missus says you are here to see your friend,” Dobby said. He gestured with his overly large hand, and after a moment, Regulus got his feet to move again. He followed the small creature through the winding hallways of the Manor, and his mouth felt drier with every step. He wanted to fall down, and his knees shook with dread and mangled relief.

He wanted to be at Hogwarts, he thought. At Hogwarts in their small corner of the library where no one bothered them, and they could feel safe. 

Dobby eventually paused outside a door. Regulus thanked him, another automatic action, and Dobby’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Of course, Master Regulus. Dobby is always happy to help!” he said enthusiastically. Regulus would have smiled, but his face felt like wax.

His hand trembled on the doorknob, and he eventually forced himself to open it and step inside.

The room illustrated the Malfoy splendor. Intricate paneling lined the walls and the furniture all looked heavy and expensive. A great four-poster bed dominated the middle of it, and a window opened into an expansive garden.

Narcissa sat beside the bed, her long silver hair falling over the back of the wooden chair. She wore very flattering dark-blue robes, and she looked poised, if not a little rigid. She glanced nervously across the bed to where another man sat: a handsome man with dark hair and sharp cheekbones. He glanced sideways at Regulus, and if Regulus had been looking, he would have seen the man’s eyes flash red.

But he didn’t. He only saw Severus.

His heart broke with it: the fear and panic and relief. He once again wanted to pull Severus into his arms and never let go until the world turned to ash around them. He wanted to promise to him that no one would ever hurt him again, that with Regulus, he would be alright and safe and happy.

He choked at the swell of emotions. The intensity of it frightened him, and he knew there was,  _ there was _ – he couldn’t say it. Not yet. Not –

"Severus,” he gasped, stumbling forward. Severus’s eyes widened, and he glanced nervously at the man sitting beside him. Regulus ignored him; he knew it was improper, but he found he didn’t really care.

Severus sat upright in the bed, covers pulled up to his waist. He wore a black t-shirt, and great, ugly bruises discolored his arms. A few of the greenish-purplish hues resembled a man’s handprint, and Regulus felt his stomach sink and bile rise in his throat when he noticed the same bruises around Severus’s neck.

It was clear that his father had also beaten Severus’s face, for his face too was bruised and discolored, but it didn’t look nearly as swollen and the coloring had faded slightly. Regulus couldn’t see the rest of him, but he imagined the skin of his chest and back looked much the same.

His mind sputtered through ways to help Severus and to ease the pain. He trusted Narcissa would have taken care of him, but he still needed to help, to do something -

He paused at the side of the bed, stopping in his movements to pull Severus into a hug. Something felt wrong. Severus looked nervous, the skin around his eyes tightening.

"Are-are you alright?” Regulus asked, suddenly nervous himself. “Cissy said-.”

"I’m alright,” Severus replied, sounding hoarse. He coughed, his face twisting in discomfort.

“Are you- can I do anything? Anything to help?” Regulus continued, looking over at Narcissa when Severus pressed his lips together. Narcissa also looked tense, and she glanced across the bed again.

Regulus finally registered the man sitting on the opposite of the bed.

Regulus knew the moment the man’s red gaze locked onto his. It was undeniable, the sense of power and brutal intelligence. The air around him practically hummed with his magic, and Regulus felt the hairs on his arms raise as if electricity bounded through the space.

Voldemort. The Dark Lord. The one his family thought would usher in a new great age. The one he knew, even if they had never explicitly stated it, he was to serve. The one who had brought the Wizarding World to its knees.

And he was here, sitting next to Regulus’s best friend, and staring at Regulus with an almost curious expression.

Regulus jerked out of his shock and gave a quick, awkward bow. “My Lord,” he said quickly, for he knew that was how the loyal addressed him. He had heard Bellatrix croon more than once about her precious lord.

Panic tried to filter through his surprise, but his yawning relief of being back with Severus buffered it. He didn’t think that was wise, for the man could easily curse him something wicked. Already he had messed up by not acknowledging his presence by rushing directly to Severus. That might be a punishable offense – something horrible that would leave him bloody and broken.

Voldemort only stared at him, red eyes peering deeply into Regulus’s. A smattering of memories flashed before his eyes. He wanted to shake his head to clear his mind, but he found he couldn’t look away.

Finally, the man spoke, his voice cold and commanding. “You are Severus’s friend.”

Regulus gave a quick nod. “Yes,” he forced out. Voldemort tilted his head and glanced back at Severus. Severus met his gaze and didn’t look away. It almost seemed defiant, but Regulus had never seen Severus look like that as he always walked through the hallways with his head permanently down. And to be defiant to Voldemort – Regulus felt a flash of fear for his friend.

“You are aware of what happened?” Voldemort asked, lips moving slowly over the words. Every movement of his spoke of power, and Regulus could no longer stand to look at him. He focused on a spot on the bed.

“I-,” he began, but Narcissa cut him off.

"I relayed to him the basics, my Lord. He does not know.”

He sensed Voldemort turning back to him, but he kept his head down. His relief could no longer buffet back his fear over the man across the bed. He wanted to reach out to Severus but repressed the urge.

“Severus,” Voldemort began, and Severus tensed beside him, “was brutally beaten by his Mudblood father.” Regulus winced at the words, and Voldemort paused for a moment as if considering his reaction. “He has done this to you your whole life, yes?”

Severus gave a small nod. “Yes, my Lord,” he responded, voice tight. Regulus tamped down at his urge to cry over that admission. Sirius suddenly flashed in front of his eyes, his small body bearing Mother’s rage as Regulus applied the healing salve Kreacher had provided on the remnants of the curses.

Voldemort’s eyes flashed. “Yet he will never hurt you again, will he? You have ensured that, and you should be proud to have killed that…disappointing part of your upbringing.” Regulus froze at the words but didn’t dare speak. He glanced quickly at Severus, but he stared only at Voldemort. Regulus thought Severus’s eyes would look dull, as they nearly always did, but they – didn’t. They looked steely. As if Severus had realized something that should have broken him didn’t and he no longer had anything to fear.

“I also suffered a disappointing father,” Voldemort confessed, steepling his fingers. “And like you, Severus, I rid this world of his barbarity. And I created myself into something far greater. As you so cleverly seem to be doing.”

A moment of silence and Regulus knew Severus must be lapping desperately at the words. He always seemed bashful when Regulus complimented him, but he knew the teenager craved recognition and approval. Regulus had seen it every time they had passed a professor, and Severus had scowled, grip tightening around his wand. He had seen it when Severus’s mask would slip and anger would flicker across his face when he wrote essays for the others. 

Voldemort spoke directly to that need.

"That spell was your own creation?” Voldemort asked, and Severus gave another nod.

“Yes, my Lord. I created it in my fifth year.”

“Impressive,” Voldemort said approvingly. “It is a clever spell.”

“Thank you,” Severus said quietly, and Regulus kept himself as still as he could. This must be what those notebooks contained, and he thrummed with the excitement of finally knowing. Severus was always so protective over them and only provided Regulus with clipped, vague answers when Regulus dared to ask.

“I need someone like you,” Voldemort continued, and Regulus found he couldn’t breathe. “I need someone clever. Someone intelligent. Cunning. Strong. I will offer you much in return, of course.” He held up a hand as Severus started to speak. “You need not decide now. Consider your options. You also cannot take the mark so young, but the offer stands. I see greatness in you, Severus, and with me, you will become great.”

Something unfathomable passed over Severus’s face, and then he ducked his head in deference. “Thank you, my Lord.”

Voldemort regarded him for another moment, and whatever he saw seemed to please him. Regulus remained petrified by the bed, breaths coming out in short gasps. He knew Voldemort could sense his fear, and that thought made it worse. He didn’t know how Severus had managed to look at him.

Fortunately, Voldemort ignored him. He stood, and Narcissa quickly followed. They both started for the door, and Regulus waited in tense anticipation for him to leave. He had almost made it when the door suddenly flew open, and a figure in black barged in.

“Regulus!” his mother shouted, anger flaring in her voice. Regulus immediately winced, and he glanced quickly at Severus. His mother would be enraged he had run off after him, but he refused to leave. He braced him for more shouting when the room suddenly fell silent.

He saw his mother fall to her knees and bow, and – oh yes, of course. Voldemort happened to be standing right beside her. Even she wouldn’t be crazy enough to lose her temper in front of  _ him. _

“Walburga,” Voldemort said in that cold, eerie voice.

“My Lord,” his mother whispered.

“What is it you wish from your son?” he asked, red eyes flickering over her crouched form.

“He-,” she began, but a glance up at Voldemort caused her to change her mind. “My son has a strange fascination with the half-breed, Snape,” she spat out. “It is not befitting.”

Voldemort tilted his head, and Regulus wondered how he could make the move look so utterly terrifying. Narcissa had paled beside him. “You are wrong,” he said coldly. Mother flinched. “Your son’s fascination is justified and should be properly encouraged, despite Severus’s impure blood.”

Mother nodded quickly. “Yes, my Lord.” Regulus had half the mind to thank Voldemort, but he quelled at the idea of turning that man’s attention back to him. Still, he felt relieved and suddenly free – Mother would no longer be able to stop him from seeing Severus, lest she defy the Dark Lord’s orders.

Voldemort took in her response, face unreadable. He must have judged it adequate because he stepped through the door. Narcissa followed closely behind.

Before he completely vanished, he spoke. “Walburga, I have a matter to discuss with you. Come with me.”

Mother jumped up, and with a dirty look at Severus, she turned and followed them out of the room.

Severus and Regulus finally sat alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's our big baddie of the story - there's about fifty million different ways one can write Voldemort, but for this one, I like him a bit more sane (as opposed to after he's reincarnated or whatever) and very effective on preying on people. I also very much like the idea of him being impressed by Severus - a wizard who's gritty, tough and brilliant in his own right (not everyone just creates spells). Unfortunately, there's not many places for that to end. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	9. Strange Clouds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mention of suicidal thoughts and child abuse. 
> 
> Thank you to pet_genius~

The minute everyone left, Regulus couldn’t fight against it anymore. He knew it was awkward, knew Severus would tense and freeze, and he knew it was the last thing he needed after a conversation like  _ that. _

But he couldn’t stop himself from hugging Severus and holding on tightly.

Severus did tense and freeze, but Regulus held on, gutted by the intensity of his panic and relief. Eventually, Severus relaxed against him. He felt skinnier than Regulus last remembered, and Regulus worried that he was hurting him.

It felt good to hug Severus however, and he thought Severus felt the same. That thought made something flutter in his stomach, but he immediately smothered it.

He begrudgingly pulled away, and he scanned over Severus’s bruises. They would need ice, he thought, or at least a cooling charm to help lessen the worst of the bruising. He wondered at the extent of Severus’s injuries – Narcissa had called them severe, and Severus did look as if he had survived hell. Regulus’s hands thrummed to do something, but he could only sit back heavily in his chair and stare at the other teenager.

Severus looked worried for a moment, hands picking at the sheet until a wry smile crossed his face. He glanced up to meet at Regulus’s gaze, and Regulus felt surprised at the fact that Severus’s eyes seemed to flicker with bemusement. “You truly have a terrible sense of timing, don’t you?”

“Huh?” Regulus asked stupidly. Severus arched an eyebrow and gestured to the door. It hit Regulus, and he groaned, sinking his head into his hands. “Was he-?”

“Narcissa had just sent Dobby off. He came in a minute later.”

Regulus groaned again. “Oh, Merlin. He could have killed me or something. I didn’t even-.”

Severus let out an amused snort, and Regulus reached over to smack him playfully. “You asshole, that’s  _ not  _ funny. Just the most powerful wizard of all time and I come running in here – Severus, I could have died.”

“You wouldn’t have-.”

“Yeah, I think I look very killable, Severus. Don’t look at me like that. He was probably thinking the same thing. Merlin, I just  _ ran  _ in here.”

"You’re not- You only look a little killable, Regulus.”

“Is that supposed to help?” Regulus asked incredulously. “Severus, look I’m shaking.” Regulus extended his hands, which were indeed trembling. “I think I’m in shock,” he said with suppressed panic.

“You’re fine,” Severus stressed, and he looked as if he had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m  _ not  _ being dramatic,” Regulus said dramatically. “It’s fine, actually. If he was going to Avada Kedavra me or whatever, I would have just used you as a shield.”

“Would you now?” Severus asked drily. Regulus nodded enthusiastically.

“Totally. I would have pushed you on top of him and taken off and then just moved to Peru and lived out the rest of my days incognito as a llama farmer.” At Severus’s expression, Regulus grinned. “That’s my Slytherin cunning right here. None of those stupid Gryffindor acts of bravery.”

“Just sacrificing your friend and hiding in Peru,” Severus stated, and something in his tone set them both off into hysterics. Regulus doubled over in the thralls of laughter, and Severus covered his mouth as he snorted, eyes closed in mirth. It was a strange laugh – one of pent up anxiety and worry, but left them both feeling much lighter.

Regulus shook off the remnants of his laughter and peered closely at Severus’s face and neck. His eyes dissected the bruising, and he frowned.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked in concern. Severus’s smile faded, and he glanced downward.

“A little, but I’ve been taking some pain potions. Um, it’s better than it was.” He spoke awkwardly, hands resting uncomfortably in his lap.

“Is there anything I can do?” Regulus scanned over Severus’s thin frame again. His gut twisted with concern. He wondered how bad it must have been, how close Severus must have been to dying – no, don’t think about that.

"Um, not – Narcissa’s done a good job with all the – I think I’m okay,” He finished weakly, and his shoulders tensed. Regulus sobered; their easy banter paled in the face of the horror of what had happened. Severus’s anxiety, predictably, grew more pronounced.

Regulus swallowed hard. He knew what he wanted to ask, but he didn’t know how appropriate it would be. He didn’t want to cause Severus more pain by asking something he didn’t want to talk about Yet, he couldn’t let this be.

“Can I, um – can I ask what happened?” he asked carefully. Severus ran a hand over his face and didn’t speak for a long moment.

“My father was beating me, and I, um, I killed him,” he confessed quietly. Regulus didn’t speak for another long moment, letting the severity of the words dissipate slightly in the silence. 

Severus, though, found it in himself to fill the silence, and Regulus sat and listened. “He’s always done that to – me. Uh, but this time was especially bad. I don’t know, I think I thought I was going to die. So I – I used some dark magic on him, and he, um, he died.” He spoke hesitantly, the words fragile.

“Okay,” Regulus said slowly. He was somewhat surprised at how muted his horror felt, but he rationalized it was the shock. The horror would come later. “Is your mother-?” he asked because he wasn’t sure how she factored into all of this.

Severus shook his head and seemed to curl up on himself. “No, um, she’s dead.” The tightness of his words implied grief, and Regulus felt a great lash of pity for his friend.

“I’m sorry.”

Severus gave a tight shrug that looked more like a twitch. “M’alright.”

Regulus suddenly couldn’t stand the gaping distance between them. It chilled his skin, and the horror grew pungent in its space. He didn’t know how Severus would respond, but he couldn’t bear to see Severus’s lonely figure and hear the agony lacing his voice. He stood from his chair and moved over so that he sat beside Severus on the bed. Severus breathed in short, heaving gasps, and without thinking too much on it, Regulus pulled him into his arms.

Severus’s head buried into the crook of Regulus’s arm, and Regulus gently placed a hand on Severus’s back to rub comforting circles. He stroked the bottom of Severus’s neck, feeling nearly intoxicated by the sense of providing comfort to someone who so badly needed it. 

Regulus kept at the soft, tender petting, and Severus trembled in his arms.

"When?” he asked quietly.

Severus gripped onto his forearm. “I was thirteen,” he admitted quietly. “I was-she, they-they had a fight – father and her, and she didn’t – she didn’t get up afterward.” He breathed out raggedly, and Regulus maintained his gentle administrations despite the pain and sympathy rearing in his heart.

“I’m sorry,” he said again because he didn’t know what else to do.

“Yeah,” Severus breathed out. “Um, yeah, it…it wasn’t good. I – it’s still -,” he broke off, and Regulus pulled him tighter in his arms. “She usually had her wand, you know? To stop him when he got too drunk. But she didn’t, not this time, I don’t know, don’t know where it was.”

"Shh,” Regulus comforted because it sounded as if Severus was growing frantic. “You’re alright. You’re here. You’re safe.”

Severus drew in a heaving breath and the trembling lessened. He didn’t speak for a long minute. “Why are you-why are you here?” he asked hesitantly, fear striating through his voice.

Regulus jolted. “Why – oh, Severus, I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

“But-,” Severus began to protest, and Regulus imagined he knew exactly where this conversation led. Severus had no sense of self-worth; it had all been taken from him or never allowed to exist in the first place. That’s why he treated their friendship with such trepidation as if he never believed himself worthy of it.

Regulus had seen it in his eyes every time Severus expected him to leave.

“You’re important to me,” Regulus persisted, “You’re my best friend, Severus.”

Severus flinched at the words. “Yes, but I’m not – you’ll leave me once you see-.”

“Is that what Lily did?” he asked, mouth speaking before he could fully think through the sentence. He winced when he heard what had slipped out, but he had denied his curiosity for too long.

Severus’s strangled gasp was answer enough. “No, no, she was-I did something unforgivable. That wasn’t-.”

“But she left,” Regulus stated, and Severus’s silence answered him. He felt a rush of empathy – both he and Severus had been abandoned by people they thought important. He knew how much it hurt. How much it turned inward and festered.

It explained Severus’s apprehension over their friendship; he must dread the prospect of losing another friend and of dealing with that pain. Regulus wondered if that was why Severus had isolated himself so severely, but it also appeared that no one had ever tried to make the effort to bridge the divide. Until Regulus, of course.

“It’s alright,” Regulus comforted. “You’re alright now.”

Severus drew in a deep breath and leaned a bit further into Regulus’s embrace. Regulus held him carefully as if he was something prone to break.

"We grew up near each other,” Severus explained, satiating some of Regulus’s curiosity. He had wondered how a Gryffindor and a Slytherin would have formed a friendship in the hostile environment of Hogwarts. Potions tutoring was one thing, but a childhood friend was something else. “She was…was my best friend. She…um, that’s why I didn’t like it when you called me Sev? If you remember? I just, that’s what she used to -.”

“I know. It’s okay,” Regulus replied quietly. Even though he couldn’t see Severus’s face, he could hear the pain lacing his voice. He clearly had cared deeply for Lily, and the wound of losing her had yet to heal.

“Yeah, um, I…we’re not…”

Regulus shushed him because he had no desire to force Severus to speak words that seemed to agonize him. He could infer well enough.

“I’m not,” Regulus began, unsure if his sentiment would come off as forced or disingenuous. He didn’t know how Severus would react, yet he knew he needed to confront the beast clawing against the friendship. “Sirius-um, Sirius did the same to me, you know? We were close before Hogwarts and then I just kind of lost him. He, I mean –he doesn’t seem to like me anymore. We just fight, and I think he hates me.” Regulus' voice broke, and he took a minute to steady himself. “It was really hard to lose him. And I know – I know how much it hurts. And I promise you, I promise you I won’t do that. Not to you. I mean, I’ll probably just drive you insane anyway so you’ll be itching to get rid of me, but I just – I just need you to know that.”

Regulus wondered if silence could kill. He felt as if someone had violently dredged his chest and made his skin burn. He had made himself vulnerable; he had exposed parts easily hurt.

“Thank you,” Severus finally said, voice heavy. “Thank you, Regulus.” He paused and drew in a shaky breath. “I’m not good at-I don’t know how to say it, but you, Regulus, you saved me. I was in a really, um, dark place. I wasn’t - I don’t know, I didn’t think I was getting out of it. I was thinking of…of ending it.” Severus paused again, and Regulus buried his face into the back of Severus’s head so he could hold him closer. The words gutted him.

“But you – you gave me something,” Severus continued, voice breaking with the weight of it. “A reason, I guess. But I just needed someone. Someone who didn’t- someone kind.”

“Yeah- I’m,” Regulus tried to say past the ache in the back of his throat. He realized he had started crying. “Yeah, you’re my best friend, Severus. You – I’m so glad I was failing potions.”

“I suppose,” Severus said delicately, “I suppose we owe it all to Slughorn?”

Regulus groaned. “We don’t owe  _ anything  _ to that walrus of a man. Merlin, he’s the absolute  _ worst _ .”

Severus chuckled, and Regulus suppressed a shudder. He realized with a note of surprise how the natural levity buoyed the emotional weight. It was terrifying and heartbreaking, but he was so damn happy to be with Severus right now. His nearness fought against the darkness in Regulus’s heart, and the intimacy made him feel lighter than he could have ever expected. It reaffirmed their bond and broke down something lodged against Regulus’s heart.

They sat in reflective silence for a few more moments, each processing the other’s words. Regulus didn’t consider himself surprised at Severus’s confession – he had often thought Severus looked broken as if the light inside of him had died. The fact that he was suicidal and depressed fit well into his initial impression, and he felt a swell of relief over the fact that he had braved approaching him. The idea of Severus – no, he didn’t want to think of that.

Eventually, Severus shifted upwards and pushed back into a seated position. He rubbed at his face, and Regulus realized he had also been crying. He smiled nervously at Severus, and after a moment, Severus smiled back. It didn’t reach his eyes, but it did speak of trust. For Regulus, that was more than enough.

"So,” Regulus began when he felt they had both collected themselves enough. “So, if you want, I can probably convince Mother to let me spend my summer here.”

Severus seemed taken aback, and Regulus could practically see the doubt creep back into him. “Would you-?”

Regulus nodded. “I missed you,” he said lightly. “A lot. And I want to hear how you create spells. I didn’t know anyone could do that.”

"You didn’t?” Severus asked with a note of surprise. “Is it not common?”

Regulus let out a dismissive snort. “Not that I know of. You’re the only person I know who has. It always seemed like it was some arcane art.”

“Oh,” Severus replied, still sounding surprised. “Well, I can teach you, if you want. I want to – um, I want to create a counterspell to one I’ve already done, and it has to do with healing magic, so I’m sure-.”

“Yes,” Regulus said eagerly. “Teach me your ways, o great teacher.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “Very well, grasshopper.”

“What?” Regulus asked as he had no idea where a grasshopper factored in. Perhaps it was something to do with potions.

Severus shook his head as his eyes glinted in amusement. “Muggle reference. Sorry. But, yeah, I’d be happy to teach you.”

Regulus smiled and saw that Severus had relaxed his shoulders. He still held his hands carefully in his lap, but he seemed much less nervous.

“Your,” he began, clearing his throat after the first word. “Your mother doesn’t seem too fond of me though.”

Regulus snorted. “She’s not fond of anyone, honestly. That’s why…she was the one who took the parchment from me so I couldn’t write back to you.” At that, Severus glanced away. Regulus tilted his head over the reaction. He had sent the owl about a week ago, and Severus had been -.

“Was that me?” Regulus asked aghast, eyes widening in horror. Severus kept his head down, and Regulus felt a cold spike of horror against his heart. “The owl…did he?” He broke off, unable to vocalize the dread of the realization.

"It wasn’t,” Severus protested, shaking his head. Regulus continued to stare at him; his denial did nothing to lessen the slap of guilt.

“It was, wasn’t it?”

Severus took a moment too long to respond, and Regulus  _ knew _ .

“It’s…” Severus tried again, glancing over at Regulus with what looked like desperation. “It wasn’t your fault. He’s been…my father has… please don’t think you were the-.”

Regulus buried his face in his hands. “But it was. Like with, with Sirius and Potter, when-. I don’t-I’m  _ hurting  _ you, Severus.”

“No,” Severus responded with a note of panic. “No, Regulus, you – they’re just bad people. They would have taken any reason. My father – my father has beaten me all my life,” Severus said, voice strained with emotion. “He- he would have, even if you haven’t sent that owl, please, Regulus, it’s not you.”

“But-,” Regulus said, unable to quell the storm of guilt and shame. He knew Severus’s words made sense, but he despised the idea of acting as the catalyst for his friend’s pain. It made the world darken. 

“And it’s-,” Severus continued when Regulus didn’t raise his head. “It’s better. Really, Regulus. I’m here now. I-I don’t, he can’t hurt me again, okay? And I get to be with you. That’s – that’s more than I thought.”

“Severus, I don’t want to hurt you,” Regulus muttered, pressing his palms into his eyes. The desperation in Severus’s note unnerved him, but he thought he could understand. Severus thought he would leave him; in fact, Severus should be the one to leave. If Regulus only continued to hurt him…

“You’re not,” Severus insisted. “You-you aren’t, Regulus.”

Regulus remained crouched over for a moment longer. He still felt responsible, and that flayed at his skin. Yet, despite his guilt, he knew he would not leave. The thought made the guilt sink deeper into his stomach, but the sheer panic from Severus relieved some of its heaviness.

Severus did not want him to leave; he knew that and would not do such a thing to his friend. However, Regulus now had two very clear examples of their friendship harming Severus. The thought made him ill.

Yet, Severus was right. Regulus had not cast those hexes. He had not raised a hand against Severus. He would never even consider it. He still felt guilty for the others' reactions, but he didn’t need to necessarily feel responsible for them. 

It was also too late to stop those spells from hitting Severus. Too late to stop his father’s fists. He could only try to do better and make sure nothing of that sort happened to him again.

“I’m still sorry,” Regulus said, lifting his head from his hands to stare sadly at Severus. “I just…don't want you to be hurt. It seems like everyone else has…has hurt you, you know? And I don’t want to be that to you.”

Severus stared at him wide-eyed for a moment as shock blanked his features. Then, he turned away as emotion cracked through his irises. “It’s not- you’re not like that, Regulus.”

Regulus watched him for a few moments. Bruises decorated Severus’s arms and necks. His hair looked better, though: not nearly as lank and greasy as usual. The lines on his face seemed harsher, the skin around his eyes tighter. The shirt hung on him, and Regulus worried over his health. Severus already looked half-starved at Hogwarts; it would not serve him well to actually starve. He wondered how often Severus had gone hungry in his home, and his throat ached.

"Are you alright?” Regulus asked carefully. Severus frowned.

“Better,” he answered shortly, gaze growing defensive. Regulus itched to ask about his father, about Voldemort and his offer, but he felt drained. He knew Severus must also, and he didn’t want to cause any more pain by dredging up difficult memories. He hoped at some point they would talk about it. But for now, they wouldn’t.

“Have you been to the gardens yet?” Regulus asked lightly, figuring the lighter topic would help ease their tension. Severus looked back over at him, black eyes nearly fathomless. The frown left his face.

“No,” he responded softly, “Should we go?”

Regulus smiled and nodded. The utter relief hidden in the crevices of Severus’s expression made his heart simultaneously skip a few beats and ache as if someone had carefully inserted a knife and twisted. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read! I love the next chapter - it's a good one. 
> 
> Also if you want more Reg + Sev friendship, please feel free to check out my other story - Sky Full of Stars. It's a Hollywood AU where Reg and Sev are nice graduate school friends, Sirius Black is far too famous for his own good, and everyone's a mess.


	10. Don't Go Far

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mentions of child abuse

Regulus decided as he lounged in the shade of an oak tree that he had never felt happier. The warm summer breeze caressed his cheek, and a bee buzzed nearby as it scoured the flowers. The grass tickled his calves, and he leaned back onto the trunk, a relaxed smile bridging his face.

Severus sat beside him. A few weeks had passed, so the bruises had faded, the ugly hues breaking down and leaving only pale skin. He had put on some weight, due to both Regulus’s insistence that he eat and Dobby’s excellent cooking. Little Dobby had grown fond of them for Regulus couldn’t help but flatter him on the meals he prepared. He expected Kreacher would get jealous; however, he had no intention to stop thanking Dobby, who tripped over himself at every compliment. Regulus imagined he got very little thanks among the Malfoys.

Severus muttered over one of the many books strewn around the ground. He flipped quickly through another, pausing when he found the page he wanted. A frown flickered over his face as he turned back to the first one.

“Why is it-these wizards are stupid, Reg,” Severus grumbled. Regulus preened at the nickname. Severus had accidentally dropped the last two syllables on a whim, immediately growing abashed. Regulus had glowed at it and insisted he could use it if he wanted. He liked Reg; he had always been Reggie to his family, and Reg felt like the next step forward.

Severus still remained strictly Severus, however, but Regulus couldn’t blame him for it.

“What’s wrong?” Regulus asked easily. Severus looked at him as he frowned. He did look much healthier, Regulus thought. Even at Hogwarts, he always looked slightly ill – either from malnutrition or sleep deprivation or the constant anxiety of an imminent attack. At Malfoy Manor, they had none of those stressors, and the weeks of an easy summer had benefited Severus immensely. One could see it in the color that now graced his cheeks or how he didn’t flinch at every abrupt interruption or how his eyes would shine, especially when he immersed himself neck-deep in magical theory.

“Bixby argues that healing magic manifests internally. That the magic simply spurs natural biological processes, that the power to heal exists within the injured wizard, not the one casting the spells.”

“Okay,” Regulus responded, tilting his head at Severus.

“But Storms argues against that theory. That healing magic emerges solely from the casting wizard, bereft of the magical capacity of the injured wizard. Healing magic is an external form.”

Regulus nodded. “Well, that makes sense, right?” Severus stared at him, and Regulus sighed and continued. “You can heal Muggles, right? And they don’t have any magic. So if it was internal, you couldn’t do that.”

“Yes, but they still possess the power to heal. They have medicine, hospitals – magic only enhances the process.”

Regulus nodded and thought. “But that would mean, if it was internal, all Healers would be inconsistent, right? If it solely depends on the injured’s abilities to heal, then it doesn't matter how strong a Healer is, each person will respond differently.”

“Not necessarily,” Severus countered. “A strong Healer may not necessarily be one with the greatest amount of raw magic. Instead, one who knows how to best coax another’s body into healing itself. It would be – it would be interesting to compare a Healer’s magical abilities with their penchant for healing. If it’s internal, then it would seem there would be discrepancies.”

“You would have to go about it differently. I wonder if that’s what they’ll teach you. You wouldn’t just channel all your energy into casting the strongest spell you could. You would have to become familiar with the body, understand how it works so you can target it appropriately. I wonder if you do any muggle biology…”

“Muggle biology? Like what? I thought they just…”

“Genetics, evolution, cells, anatomy, stuff like that, I guess. I did some in my primary school, but they don’t teach that at Hogwarts.” Regulus grimaced and Severus looked in him with concern. “What is it?”

“Is it bad if I don’t know what half those words mean?” Regulus asked gingerly. He had gone to a wizarding primary school, where Muggle science was the least of their concerns. Instead, they learned about bloodlines and magic and basic reading and writing. Not whatever genetics is.

Severus blinked. “Oh-um, I forgot…yes, a little bit.”

Regulus nodded in acceptance. “So science then?”

Severus nodded, “I know a few books I could get you.” He paused, seeming to debate something, and then continued. “I would go to the library a lot when I was home. It was safe, and I got to read.”

Regulus suppressed a wince at the mention of safety. Severus had started to carefully drop information about his childhood into conversation. It was never anything horrific, just small mentions of what he used to do, but Regulus had gleaned enough of the picture to know that Severus had faced tremendous abuse. Everything Regulus had taken for granted – consistent meals, relative safety from physical punishment, a sense of belonging with his brother and Kreacher and a lesser extent his parents – had not been granted for Severus.

He knew far greater horrors existed. He knew Severus probably couldn’t manage to speak of it. He knew he needed to be Severus’s friend, and for him to be Severus’s friend, he had to make him feel secure. He knew that was how wounds healed best – not to be constantly picked at, but rather tended carefully and left to rest.

He still hadn’t talked to Severus about Voldemort and the Death Eaters. He still didn’t know how he felt about it. Part of him hated the idea; Bellatrix frightened him so intensely, and he instinctually shuddered at anything that brought her joy. Yet, one could not deny Lord Voldemort’s power. He promised greatness. A greatness that even Regulus couldn’t help but crave.

However, in the shadow of an ancient oak tree, books sprawled out on the grass, it was easy to pretend nothing loomed over them. That all they needed to worry and care about existed in the space between them.

He wondered if it was naive to try to pretend everything was alright. Delusional, perhaps. Yet, in the warm summer air, it was easy to forget that the world existed beyond them. That a war had the potential to tear them apart. It didn’t matter – not with Severus relaxed beside him, and Regulus sprawled out with a patch of sunlight on his face.

He was happy, and in a way, he had never felt before. Severus made him –.

Severus made him want to –.

He stopped himself from letting the thought manifest.

“I used to go to our park,” Regulus added after a moment of silence. “When Mother got angry. I guess that was my safe place too.”

Severus nodded, and his eyes flickered up to meet Regulus’s. A small smile lifted his face, and Regulus smiled softly back.

“You’re a really good friend,” Regulus said suddenly, an urge pressing him to say it. He knew it sounded cheesy, but it came out before he could stop it. Severus flushed, cheeks tingeing red. “You are,” he pressed. “You’re going to be someone amazing one day, and I’m glad that I’m-.” He broke off, feeling terribly awkward.

Severus started to pick at the grass, cheeks still flushed. He took a long moment to respond, sounding stricken when he did. “Thank you, um, you’re also – I’ve never, really only Lily, but you – I’m-.”

“I know, Severus,” Regulus said gently. Severus started to pick more aggressively at the grass, appearing frustrated at his inability to articulate. He really didn’t need to hear Severus say anything in return; the sentiment had been expressed clearly enough for him already.

Still, Severus remained insistent. “You’re also a good friend,” he managed. He stared intently at the grass, mouth set firmly. “You should…you should know how-,” he seemed to struggle with getting the words out, so Regulus waited patiently, “How important you are to me.”

He fell silent, torn grass in a pile next to his knee. His expression had turned inward as if thinking deeply. Regulus watched him for a moment, hands itching to reach out and touch Severus. He suppressed the urge, even though it made his throat ache.

The silence stretched between them, and Regulus thought the glow in his chest would rival the sun. He wondered what he should reply with when an idea popped in his head.

“Why couldn’t it be both?” he asked. Severus turned to him surprised. “The external versus internal magic,” Regulus explained to Severus’s look of confusion. He gestured towards the book. “Why can’t it be both?”

Severus looked at him with an unfathomable expression. Then, he turned back to the books and traced his fingertips over the text. “It’s a good thought, Regulus,” he said slowly. “You – that’s actually – Shallan is the leading theorist on differentiating the two, and she tends not to think of them intermixing, but I don’t see why they couldn’t.” Severus trailed off and lifted his quill to press against his lips. He scribbled something in his notebook, and Regulus peered over at him through lazy eyes.

“There ya go,” he mumbled, the afternoon sun coaxing him into a doze. “Just credit me when ya revolutionize magic.”

Regulus saw Severus flush again, dark eyes filling with some fathomless emotion. Regulus’s hand started to move on its own accord, but he forced it down onto the grass, trying to disguise it as a stretch. Severus didn’t appear to notice, so Regulus let himself drift off, mind slipping somewhere safe and cool under the shade of the oak tree

**/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\**

Regulus ran into the lake, splashing water along the way. He plunged his head under and enjoyed the feeling of the cool water against his sun-kissed skin. He popped out and laughed, twisting around to float on his back and stare up at the cloudy sky.

He had proposed swimming to Severus after Narcissa mentioned a small lake they had on their property. Generations of Malfoy children had used it as a swimming hole, and Regulus couldn’t resist the idea.

Severus had acted more reluctantly, but he eventually caved to the idea after Regulus’s insistence. Regulus loved swimming – his parents used to take Sirius and him to the beach, and the days spent building sandcastles and battling the ocean waves with his brother were some of his fondest of childhood. They had stopped going in recent years, and he missed it badly.

While the tranquility of a lake differed from the typically tumultuous ocean, Regulus still felt a nostalgic surge of joy.

He floated on the water for a few more minutes, the water lapping against the side of his face and over the hollow of his stomach. It refreshed him, and he felt himself relax.

He then turned back to the shore, eyes searching for Severus. He had hoped that Severus would have followed him, splashing into the water a few feet behind Regulus. He wasn’t surprised, but he still let out a sigh when he saw Severus standing firmly on the shore. He had yet to remove his shirt and stared at the water with a closed expression.

Regulus flipped his body and easily swam back to shore. When it grew shallow enough, he stood and smiled lopsidedly at Severus.

“You coming?” Regulus called out, keeping his tone light and jovial. Severus’s mouth flickered downward for a second. He eyed the water warily. “I’m not going to let you drown if that’s what you’re worried about,” he added with a smile.

Severus took a step forward, seemingly emboldened by Regulus’s promise. Then, he faltered to a stop and wrapped his arms around his chest. He shifted nervously, avoiding Regulus’s gaze.

Regulus frowned and considered his reaction. Maybe Severus had a fear of water? Regulus had almost drowned at the beach once, and he spent the rest of the week biting back against fear every time he heard the crash of a wave. Perhaps something had happened to him, and it had left him frightened.

Regulus wouldn’t force him into the water, but he did want Severus to feel safe to do so. The summer following his near-drowning, Sirius had coaxed him back into the ocean water, promising to keep him safe. Regulus had frozen with fear at the first wave, but his brother was there and kept it from dragging him under. Over the course of the next week, Regulus gradually lost his fear of the water. He had spent the last day jumping against the crashing waves with Sirius as they always had, and he still thought of it as one of the best days of his life.

Merlin, he missed his brother.

He tamped down on it, fighting against the ache in his throat. His brother was dead. Sirius Black was a stranger. They would never fight against the waves again.

Regulus took a few steps closer to Severus. “It’s alright if you don’t-,” he eased, reluctant to pressure Severus into anything.

Severus shook his head. “No, I -,” he paused, “It’s – there’s.” He looked ashamed and bent his head down. Regulus readied to leave the water and scrap the whole idea when Severus spoke again. “Can you, um, close your eyes?” Severus whispered so that Regulus had to strain his ears to hear.

His eyes widened at the realization, and he nodded quickly. “Yeah, of course.” He shut his eyes and covered his face with his hands. He heard the shuffling of clothes and then a splash as something disturbed the water.

Regulus knew he shouldn’t; it was a betrayal of trust and one that would hurt Severus badly. Yet, he couldn’t resist slitting his eyes and peeking through a crack between his fingers. He caught sight of Severus's thin body shifting through the water, and his heart sank to his stomach.

He had never seen Severus undressed. His friend hid his body constantly; even at Hogwarts, Regulus had never seen Severus strolling around the communal bathrooms. Regulus now understood why.

He couldn’t see it well, and it was only a flash of light through his fingertips, but he gathered the sense of it well enough.

His father had left scars on him. They stretched thinly around his side and into his back, white and faded against the pale skin. And then – it looked like a claw mark slashing across his side. Regulus couldn’t place it; it didn’t look like a dog. It didn’t look like any animal Regulus had seen before. It had raised against his skin, still slightly red as if it had taken a long time to heal. Regulus swallowed hard against the dread.

Then, Severus had passed, and Regulus stared at a glimmer of water and the dirt-packed shore. He kept his body still, unwilling to cue Severus into this betrayal of trust, but he couldn’t stop the twist of horror in his gut.

He felt the water shift around him, and he heard Severus call out to him. Regulus removed his hands and opened his eyes, blinking against the intensity of the sunlight. He turned and pushed past his horrified shock to grin at Severus. Severus had sunk into the water so that it reached his neck. He had picked a patch covered in shadow so that the water became too dark for Regulus to catch a good sight of his body. Regulus couldn’t blame him.

He still looked nervous, but Regulus swam over with as much casualness he could manage to hopefully set Severus at ease.

“Nice, huh?” Regulus asked nonchalantly. Severus’s gaze flickered to his for a moment before closely watching a group of minnows swim around them.

“Yeah,” he finally said. “It was a good idea, Reg.”

“You know, Severus,” Regulus drawled, stretching out onto his back and peering up at the leafy canopy. He shut his eyes, so he spoke into the darkness. “I know it was absolutely terrible what happened to you, don’t get me wrong, but I’m also really happy we got to spend our summer together. I was planning to mope around my house for three months with only Kreacher for company, so you know, it’s been nice.”

He couldn’t see Severus’s response, but he imagined it well enough. That moment of disbelief. The flush in his cheeks. The vulnerability that claimed his eyes as if he couldn’t believe anyone would say anything like that to him. It broke Regulus’s heart every time, but he couldn’t resist saying things to invoke that reaction.

“Yeah,” Severus said softly. “For me, it was – it would have been hard.”

Hard, Regulus thought as he tried to suppress a hysterical giggle. Understatement of the century.

“Did he beat you a lot?” Regulus heard himself asking. Adrift in the darkness, the conversation suddenly felt much easier. The questions he had been wanting to ask could float to the surface. He didn’t feel the spike of awkwardness that he had expected.

“Yeah,” Severus said quietly. “He didn’t – not when I was really young. But then he got fired from the mines, and he started to drink a lot. Ma and him would always fight a lot, but he started to get – get violent, you know, after, and I couldn’t really do that much to stop it. So yeah, he um, he beat me a good amount.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No you don’t – it’s not your fault,” Severus protested. Regulus frowned.

“I’m still sorry,” he insisted. He paused a moment, letting the water lap against him as he thought about what he wanted to say. “I – my parents never hurt me,” he began hesitantly, “But Mother and Father would get really angry with Sirius. They would hex him and stuff like that – he always tried to get me to leave when they got that way. So I don’t think I would have to see it. But I still, I would help him after.”

He was suddenly very glad that he had kept his eyes shut. He didn’t want to see Severus, only wanted to speak out into some unfathomable abyss where his childhood didn’t feel so horrific. His insides ached with the loss of his brother, but he couldn’t blame him for trying to escape.

Sirius never talked about what Mother or Father did to him. He always,  _ always _ , hid Regulus when their tempers turned dangerous. Regulus never saw the aftermath unless it was his brother, collapsed in the corner of his room as Regulus tried to feed him the potions Kreacher supplied.

He knew it was bad. And he knew he owed Sirius more than he could ever repay him. He only wished it hadn’t torn them apart.

“Oh,” Severus said, sounding far away. “Is that why you want-?”

“To be a Healer?” Regulus finished. “Yeah, it is. Don’t like…don’t like seeing people in pain. Especially people I care about.” He trailed off and placed his feet down in the water to bring him back upright. He met Severus’s eyes and smiled softly, the hazy shade of the summer day making him feel safe.

“You’ll be a great Healer, Reg,” Severus said thickly, seeming to speak past a lump in his throat. His hands drifted on top of the water, fingertips disturbing the placid surface. His gaze flickered down for a moment, and then he looked back up at Regulus, something unfathomable in his eyes, and –

For one dizzying moment, Regulus thought to lean forward and close the distance between them. He thought of pressing his lips against Severus’s and how that would feel – the fragile, awkward beginning and the feeling of Severus’s nose against his cheek and the way his breath would ghost his skin. He thought of Severus’s slippery chest pressed against his own, he thought of touching him, hands skimming over the scars and running through Severus’s wet hair, and he thought of kissing him and kissing him and -

Regulus plunged himself under the water.

No, no, no,  _ no.  _ He couldn’t – this couldn’t be happening. He liked Severus, he knew that, but he couldn’t  _ like _ him.

It sullied his friend. Turned him into something to serve Regulus’s base desires. Reduced him into something physical, and Regulus did not want to do that to someone like Severus.

Even worse, it would destroy their friendship. He doubted Severus felt anything beyond friendship, and he knew how uncomfortable Severus was with physical contact. To do this would tear apart the fragile trust that lay between them. Regulus couldn’t do that, no matter what his body seemed to want.

Most importantly, he couldn’t – couldn’t be like  _ that.  _ To his family, that would be even more unforgivable than sorting into Gryffindor. At least, Sirius would still have children. He would pass down the Black name, continue the lineage. If Regulus didn’t…no, no, no, it was just the heat. The sun had gotten to him. Some hormonal urge, maybe. But not - not anything more. He wouldn’t let it be anything more.

He  _ couldn’t  _ let it be anything more.

With his lungs burning, he finally resurfaced. Severus blinked down at him, looking confused and a fraction alarmed. Regulus’s hands ached to reach out, but he ignored it with everything he could muster. Severus was his friend. He didn’t need anything more.

Regulus forced an easy grin on his face as if to disguise his moment of panic as something benign and spontaneous. Severus continued to watch him, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Regulus shrugged it off and twisted to look at the other edge of the pond.

“You know how to swim?” he asked, turning back to Severus. His lips pursed as if trying to decide to comment on Regulus’s action, but he eventually decided against it. He shook his head. “Want me to teach ya?” he asked carefully.

Severus considered it for a moment and then gave a slow nod. “Just don’t let me drown,” he replied, and Regulus grinned, relieved they had passed over his reaction.

“Don’t worry,” Regulus promised, “I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the first half, I completely made up that magic theory, but I hope, in some way it makes sense. I essentially wanted Severus exploring something that Regulus loved, on his behalf, and then getting affronted when Regulus couldn't tell him what the mitochondria of the cell does. I think it's cute :) 
> 
> For the second half, I imagine that with the insistence of producing heirs and continuing bloodlines, it wouldn't be accepted for anyone to have a romantic relationship with anyone that couldn't produce them children. Poor Regulus's not going to get this easy...
> 
> Thank you for reading! I'm dedicated to this story, so I'll keep on posting, even if it becomes a bit more sporadic. I'll try to still get chapters up, of course!


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